"FIRST RAWLINGS THEN TRENDALL WERE TOSSED OUT INTO A DENSE MASS OF BUSHES."

"Quick! Pull it off him," commanded Susanne, seemingly as cool as a cucumber. "Now, all together. Ah! He's killed."

"Killed?" It was Rawlings who asked the question, his lips bloodless, his knees almost knocking. "Killed? Then—then what happens? Do we have to appear?"

It was like him to think first of himself, and not of the unfortunate man. But the question he had asked was one which was bound to be asked. It was one which intimately concerned one and all of the boys of Ranleigh who had broken bounds. They turned from the body of the man to one another.

"I'm awfully sorry for that poor chap," said Susanne at last. "As for us, we're in for it, eh?"

"Absolutely," agreed Masters. "Right in the soup."

"Unless——" began Rawlings.

"Unless what?" asked Clive curtly.

"Unless we can get out of the mess by——"

"Telling lies?" asked Hugh, backing Clive up swiftly.

Rawlings nodded ever so little.

"Thanks, Rawlings," said Susanne coldly. "You and Trendall do as you like. We'll be getting onward."

HONESTY'S THE BEST POLICY

The short run from the spot where the poor fellow driving the rival car in which Rawlings and Trendall had been passengers had met with his death was anything but a pleasant experience for Clive and his comrades. In the first place, Higgins, hitherto reckless as to his driving, now went at a snail's pace, as if he were in a funeral procession. And then there were two additional passengers in the car. The boys eyed one another in silence. Susanne, as if to break the spell, and careless now, as ever, of the lost authority of Rawlings, fixed his monocle upon that worthy reflectively.

"Best 'op as soon as we gets to the common," suddenly cried Higgins over his shoulder. They heard the brake grind. The car came to a standstill. Then the rascally driver turned upon them, thrust his cap to the back of his head and invited all to listen.

"See 'ere, young gents," he began. "Just at this point you gets off and 'ops it up to the school."

"Yes." Susanne answered him in a mono-syllable, though his brows were furrowed and his eyes scowling. Rawlings slid from the car, and Trendall likewise. Then the others followed, till they were gathered around the bonnet.

"Well?" demanded Susanne curtly.

"And jest at this 'ere point I goes right off to the village. See?"

"No," declared Susanne and Clive together, obstinately determined to give the fellow no encouragement, for they guessed at what was coming.

"There isn't anything to see," said Bert coldly. "The thing's plain. You're here at this spot. We divide. You go off to the village and there give information to the police."

"That's just where you're off it," cried Higgins at once, savagely, "and don't you get a layin' down the law to me, Mr. Seymour. I 'ops it to the village, and I says nothing. I leaves it to the police to find out what's happened. I didn't cause that accident. It was the steering gear that broke and upset the car. So it's no fault of mine. You ain't fools, you young gents?"

"No," declared Rawlings eagerly, for he was listening.

"Certainly not," ventured Trendall.

"Depends," said Susanne. "Go on."

"And no one knows as Mister Rawlings and Mr. Trendall were on that car. Yer see, it's only them as you've got to think of. It ain't known as they was there. My car don't come into the question. So I says, just 'ere we 'ops it and says nothing."

"Quite so. Hear, hear!" cried Rawlings, plucking up a vestige of courage.

"And supposing we're asked," demanded Masters, looking Rawlings coolly up and down till that immaculate young fellow felt intensely uncomfortable. "Eh?"

"We know nothing," said Rawlings and Higgins together.

"Nothing whatever," declared the latter with emphasis. "Not a word. We wasn't out on the car. We wasn't at the meeting. We don't know nuffin' about the death of that poor cove."

"And why should we?" chimed in Trendall. "We're not responsible. It isn't as if he had been murdered. The car overturned, and Rawlings and I were jolly lucky. The police won't need any explanation. There! That satisfies you, eh?"

Clive Darrell went a dull red as he listened to this conversation. He had forgotten for the moment the fact that Old B. had seen the car at the meeting, and that he alone could put the police on the right track if information were needed. To Clive it did not seem that there was any other action than a straight one. For supposing some other driver of a motor-car were accused of having caused this fatal accident? It was quite possible. Then the position would be dreadful. And in any case, though he was ready for a lark at any time, and would doubtless break bounds on many another occasion, still he wasn't going to lie to save his own skin or that of Higgins, Trendall, or Rawlings.

"Come on, Susanne," he said coldly, tucking his arm within his friend's.

"Good day, Higgins."

"Good day," repeated Masters, linking his arm in Clive's.

"Er, good evening," cried Bert and Hugh together.

"'Ere! Stop!" shouted Higgins, his face aflame with passion.

"Well?" asked Susanne placidly; for he had the most even of tempers.

"Do I understand as you four's a goin' ter give us three way?" demanded the ruffianly Higgins, squaring up to them in threatening manner, while the Old Firm stood arm in arm watching him closely. "Eh?"

"You have managed to gather something of our meaning, at any rate," replied Susanne, without raising his voice in the slightest.

"Then you're going to give information yourselves?" asked Rawlings, two spots of red colour in his otherwise pallid cheeks, his eyes blazing.

"In other words, you're going to act like a parcel of fools and sneaks," shouted Trendall, his temper aroused like that of Higgins'.

"One moment?" asked Susanne coolly. "You really take the words out of my mouth. Our action will be decided after discussion. If the police want information, as seems certain, we shall volunteer it. I am not quite sure that we shall not at once report the circumstances. In any case, we do not intend to lie. As for you, Rawlings and Trendall—you must do as you like. Your movements and your actions have no interest for me and these other fellows."

"You mean, then, that if you're asked who were in that other car you won't say?" demanded Rawlings eagerly, breathlessly in fact.

"Certainly, that is, if the request comes from the school authorities. If from the police it is a different matter. Now you know. Lie as much as you care to yourself. This firm don't go in for dirty behaviour of that sort."

The great and placid Susanne carefully focussed his monocle upon the figure of the prefect, regarded him, from the sole of his dusty boots to the crown of his somewhat damaged bowler, with something akin to scorn, and then set out for the school with his comrades. They left the trio behind them in earnest conversation, a conversation which, before it was ended, became somewhat heated. Nor did it bode much good to Clive and his comrades. It may be said, indeed, that all Rawlings' vindictiveness was centred upon the young fellow who lived so close to him at home. But in the case of Trendall we are bound to confess that the condition of his mind was essentially wavering. To commence with, at heart he was a better and a more generous-minded fellow than Rawlings. And then, try as he might, he could not forget his indebtedness to Susanne. Rawlings had chided him for it. He had argued against that feeling as unnatural.

"Feel as if you ought to be grateful!" he had scoffed now on many an occasion, for he was ever fearful of losing the alliance. Rawlings had, indeed, felt the coldness of his fellows for many a day after that episode on the ice. Fellows who had been quite content to know him before, to be even jovial with him, though never actually friendly, were now always busy when he happened to accost them, and hurried off. Or they turned cold looks upon him, which sent him off with his tail between his legs and his lips muttering. Trendall might do the same. Susanne and his friends had helped to save his life. Trendall had even thanked them, though lamely it must be admitted.

"Call that saving your life! Rot!" Rawlings had told him. "What followed? For a week and more the chaps were never tired of hooting you. They told you that you had acted like a muff. That you had nearly drowned the whole party. And now you speak of gratitude, and to fellows such as they are."

It was always the memory of the uncomfortable and indisputable fact that Ranleighans had jeered at him that turned all Trendall's better intentions and feelings to gall and wormwood. Hyper-sensitive where his own dignity was concerned, and having for a long while had perforce to put up with a great deal of chaff, he had found, up to that affair of the ice, that friendship with Rawlings improved his position. There are snobs in every school, we suppose. Rawlings was decidedly one. Trendall was, perhaps, another. In any case, alliance with Rawlings had brought him comfort and affluence, for his friend was blessed with even more money than was the case with Susanne. And chaff had ceased, for Rawlings was free with his hands and feet. But that ice episode had set fellows jeering. Trendall forgot a natural gratitude to Susanne and his friends in the bitterness of the ridicule poured on him, and this, fanned by Rawlings, made him almost as great an enemy as was that immaculate but detestable young fellow.

"So we sticks together, eh?" asked Higgins, as the trio were about to separate. "If them young sneaks says as you was in that car, I says you wasn't. If I'm axed who was there, why, I don't know."

A ponderous wink and an ugly leer accompanied this statement.

"But I knows who was along with me, oh, yes, I knows all about that. I was going to Guildford shopping, yes, and these here youngsters sees me and asks for a ride. I gives it to 'em. Yes. That's right. And their names is Feofé, Masters, Darrell and two Seymours. You're clear, Mr. Rawlings. Thank ye, sir. Sovereigns is useful every time. You say as there'll be another by the end of the week?"

"When my allowance comes; but on conditions."

"In course. Conditions that I gives them young sneaks away and knows nothing about you."

The conspiracy thus hatched boded ill for Clive and his fellows, for when one began to analyse the circumstances of the case, it would be their word against that of Higgins. Whereas he stated that they had hailed him on the road, their statement would be that he had taken them by arrangement. If they said in addition that Rawlings and Trendall were in the second car, Higgins would strenuously deny the statement, and there again there would be conflict of testimony, which would be useless to convict either of the two. Gold had, in fact, won over the rascally Higgins, just as it may win over any similar scoundrel. Rawlings felt that his money had been well expended, and he followed Clive and his friends to the school in a distinctly calmer frame of mind. The trouble which had been staring him in the face was gone. He was chuckling at the fix into which Susanne and his band would certainly tumble.

"We've just to sit tight and keep our mouths shut, Trendall," he said. "Of course, we shall have to appear indignant at the charge, and—ah, that's lucky, we shall want an alibi."

"Eh? How much? What's an alibi?"

"Duffer! Someone to prove that we were elsewhere."

"Higgins then."

"Idiot!" Rawlings rounded on him angrily. "How can he prove that when he was off at the flying meeting? What about Tunstall?"

Tunstall was another of the same kidney as Higgins. Ranleigh was, in fact, at this period, somewhat unlucky in this particular, for Tunstall was one of those oily wretches ever on the look out for favours from anyone. In a smaller way than Higgins he had more than once procured contraband articles for Ranleighans, and was ready at any time to do a service. Better, too, for Rawlings' purpose, he occupied a shop somewhat isolated and away from the village. A prefect had the right to go there. Doubtless the fact of his taking a friend would be overlooked.

"He's the very man," agreed Trendall. "But—look here, Rawlings, I don't like all this business. Supposing it were found out?"

He never thought of the dishonesty of it all. Like his friend, he feared only the consequences of discovery.

"Rot! Of course the thing'll pass. Don't be an ass," growled Rawlings. "Let's sprint off at once. We've time to see him now and still be in for call-over."

Everything seemed to be working in their favour, for the wily Tunstall was at home, and tumbled to their meaning instantly. He was a shock-headed, unkempt individual, with a crooked back and a chin which seemed to have settled down on his chest from infancy. A straggling beard depended from the same chin, while long, untidy eyebrows overshadowed a pair of cunning orbs.

"Say as you was here the whole afternoon, a drinkin' corfee and sich like; of course, Mr. Rawlings," he leered, "but—well, yer see, bein' only a poor man, with this here shop to depend on, I can't afford to give nuffin away, don't yer see, nuffin, not even a promise."

"But we'll make that all right," came the instant and eager response. "Look here, Tunstall, what's it worth?"

The wily one screwed his eyes up till his long brows mingled almost with his unkempt beard. "What's it worth? Well, see here, supposin' I don't stick to the tale. Supposin'——But you ain't yet told me why you've axed for this here alibi. Is it a robbery?"

"A robbery!" shouted Trendall angrily, his fat cheeks wabbling and flushing red. "What do you take us for?"

Tunstall might easily have replied that he took them for what they showed themselves to be. But he had his own terms to make, and caution was necessary.

"No offence, gents," he said silkily. "No offence, I'm sure. I wasn't thinkin' that, of course. But what's the reason for wantin' this here alibi? You've got into some sort o' mess, I suppose. What mess, then? I has to ask, 'cos I has to protect myself, and besides, though I may only keep a small shop, I've got me own feelin's, and me own pride."

The task was not so easy a one as Rawlings imagined. Or, to be precise, that young gentleman was not half as clever as he thought himself. Had he been so he would have seen through the artifices of this rascal at once, and would not have shown concern at his lack of keenness to undertake the work asked of him.

"I'll—I'll make it worth your while, Tunstall," he said desperately. "As to the cause, why, we've been to Guildford. There was an accident on the way back. The steering gear of the car went wrong and we were turned over. That man Ranger, who was driving, was killed. Now, the police will find him and the car on the road. It's plain he was killed by accident, and there's not the smallest need for our names to appear. All we could do would be to corroborate the story of the accident. But we don't want to do that, for we'd been breaking bounds. Now, a sovereign if you help us."

Tunstall held out a grimy palm.

"Put it there, sir," he leered. "I'll swear as you was here all day a drinkin' corfee and——"

"Not all day," Trendall corrected him. "We came just before twelve and left at three. That makes it impossible for us to have been at Guildford."

"Then you come here at twelve and left at three. You was drinkin' corfee and jawin' and what not. Put it there, Mr. Rawlings."

"I can't now, but at the end of the week," came the lame answer. "I've given my last sovereign to-day. But I'll easily get more, and——"

"Oh, ho!" cried Tunstall, looking cunningly at them. "You ain't got the stuff on you, but you've got promises. Well, any man is rich with them. Gold's gold, Mr. Rawlings, and without it a man can't speak, nor take risks, which is a deal more, I can tell ye."

"But—what do you mean?" asked Rawlings desperately, afraid to lose his temper and abuse the man. "My word is good enough, surely? If I say I will pay you a pound, that money is as good as paid."

"In course. In course, sir. But gold's gold, as I've said. Promises ain't worth half, or even that. I could ha' done this here job for twenty shillings, but for a promise of twenty, no. It ain't possible."

"Then how much?" asked Trendall, his fat cheeks shaking with apprehension, for he could now see the importance of possessing an alibi. "How much for the job?"

"Five quid. Not a penny less," came the leering rejoinder.

The mention of such a sum caused the two Ranleighans to stare hard at one another. Rawlings' brow was deeply furrowed, his eyes had a far-away look. Trendall watched him anxiously. For his part five pounds was out of the question. Masters could have raised such a sum almost as easily, and that was saying a lot, for Masters was for ever grumbling at the smallness of his allowance, and the meanness of his people. But Rawlings had a wealthy father, one, too, who boasted of the expense caused by an expensive son. He liked to feel that his offspring was cutting a dash, and for that purpose gave him ample funds. Still, even he might kick if too great a demand were made.

"Got it!" cried Rawlings, snapping his fingers with delight. "Five pounds, you said, Tunstall?"

"That's the figure. It couldn't be done at a halfpenny less."

"There's that parting present we're giving to Tarton, the 'Stinks' master," suggested Rawlings. "They're asking for subscriptions to the fund, and——"

"You could get it for that, eh?" demanded Trendall eagerly.

"Easily. Tell the Governor I want to do the thing well. He'll never be any the wiser, and'll never ask questions. Very well, Tunstall, it's a big price, but I'll pay it. Five pounds for the job, half as soon as my next allowance arrives, the rest before the term's ended."

The wretch looked at him artfully, his eyes screwed up to narrow slits again.

"You promise?"

"Certainly."

"On yer—on yer honour?"

"What next! Of course!" growled Trendall. "As if we were likely to break our word."

"I dunno. I dunno," muttered Tunstall, but so that they could hear. "Honour's a great word with you gents, and me and the likes of me don't understand it. But I should ha' thought that young chaps as wanted a job o' this sort done hadn't—well, five pound then, half within a week, the rest as you say."

A flash of indignant anger in Rawlings' eye, and a sudden heightening of Trendall's colour, had warned him to refrain from further speaking. He nodded to them both and showed them out obsequiously. As for the two who were to pay him for this job, they slunk away from the shop as if they were afraid of their own shadows. That last unmeant thrust on the part of Tunstall had gone home with a vengeance.

"The cheek of the brute," growled Rawlings. "What'd he mean about honour? What business is it of his, anyway? Eh?"

But in their heart of hearts they knew that the thrust was deserved. What honour could they have, indeed, when they were parties to such double dealing? However, a sharp run up to the school made them forget the incident. They were in good time for call-over, and went in to tea as if nothing unusual had happened. By the following morning they had persuaded themselves that their fears had been needlessly aroused, and that their precautions were unnecessary.

"Wish I hadn't been quite so free with that fellow Higgins," Rawlings whispered to Trendall as they went into Chapel. "The chances are the police have found the car and the man, and have decided that it was an easily explained accident. There was the broken steering gear to tell them its cause, and nothing to show that there was another car there or anyone else in the wrecked car, for that matter. I'm sorry about that sov. As to Tunstall, of course, if he don't have to swear an alibi, why, he won't get his money."

But breakfast brought a decided change to the situation. The meal was ended, "knock up" had sounded, this latter being a sharp rap given on the table occupied by the masters up on the dais. It called for silence, while Harvey made the round of the hall, inspecting table linen. Then followed grace as a rule, and immediately after the boys filed out of the Hall in regular order. Now, of a sudden, a familiar figure bounced on to the dais. It was the Headmaster. Dead silence followed, silence in which Rawlings could hear his heart thumping. It palpitated a moment later when the Head began to speak. He stood in the middle of the dais, his head thrown back, his eyes apparently closed, a smile on his face which might have deceived the unwary. But Ranleighans knew that something unpleasant was coming. The acidity of his tones even more than the words told them of his great displeasure.

"There was an accident on the road from Guildford yesterday," he said. "A man was killed. Certain Ranleigh boys were there. They will step forward."

Clive felt as if his legs would not support him. It was all very well to have formed resolutions, but acting up to them was an altogether different matter. He quaked. The severe tones of the Head, his austere manner, his obvious displeasure alarmed him. Clive hesitated. He looked across at Susanne, and saw that young fellow actually grinning. And then he took heart. He clambered over the long form between which and the table he was standing, and marched toward the dais. Susanne was already in motion. Masters followed close behind him, wearing a woebegone expression, while Bert and Hugh brought up the rear, their faces flushed with excitement.

"Ah! Five of you. You were present at this accident?"

"Yes, sir," came from Susanne, a wonderful ally on such a stern occasion.

"Yes, sir," repeated the others.

"And you declare that the cause of this man's death was due purely to accident?"

"Certainly," from Susanne.

"Decidedly," from Masters.

"Yes, sir," from Clive and the others.

"There were others present in the car in which you were riding? Darrell, answer the question."

"The driver only, sir," Clive managed to blurt out.

"Ah! His name, Feofé?"

"Higgins, sir."

"But that is not the name of the man who was killed. Explain!" demanded the Head severely, opening his eyes to thrust a glance at the culprits.

"No, sir. We were in another car. The accident occurred after we had passed," Bert took upon himself to explain.

"Ah! That is clear enough. There were two cars. You boys had broken bounds and had been to the meeting at Guildford on the one driven by Higgins. What boys were in the other?"

No answer. Susanne was gazing over the head of the chief of Ranleigh at the glazed windows beyond. Clive looked decidedly frightened. Masters appeared not to have heard the question. For Bert and Hugh, their faces were impassive.

"I will put the question differently. There were Ranleigh boys in the other car, were there not?" demanded the Head curtly. "Masters, answer."

"Yes, sir."

Down in the body of the hall Rawlings and Trendall began to tremble. The critical moment was arriving. They must stand to their guns, and when those sneaks on the dais had mentioned their names, they must declare their innocence. It would be perfectly all right. They had that alibi. Higgins would also declare in their favour.

"And you recognised them? Feofé, answer."

"Yes, sir."

"Then their names, if you please. Seymour Primus, you will give them."

A stony silence followed. You could have heard a pin dropping. Boys in the body of the Hall hardly dared to breathe, while Rawlings and his crony found the strain almost intolerable.

"Then, Feofé? Those names."

Silence once more. Not a syllable from the Frenchman.

"Then, Darrell? Seymour Secundus?"

The Head swung round and beckoned to someone outside the door through which he had entered, one admitting directly on to the dais. There was a trying interval during which not a foot was stirred. Never had Ranleigh school remained assembled in such a deathly silence. Even Old B., standing so close to the Head, seemed to feel it. His face was flushed a dull red. His eyes were blinking. The fair giant looked decidedly uncomfortable. And then the tension was relieved. Carfort, the school butler, appeared with a cane of vast proportions beneath his arm, and handed it to the Head.

"Now we will proceed," said that worthy, regarding the culprits and the whole school icily. "You boys know what to expect if you refuse to answer. I ask you once again for the names of the two Ranleigh boys who were in that other car. They should have come forward at the first. They have failed to do so. Give me their names."

Silence. Nothing but stony silence. Susanne looked as if he were whistling. Clive's head was held high and haughtily. Masters wore the sort of look he usually had when receiving another dose of "impots." And then the school was electrified by another demand.

"Rawlings and Trendall, stand forward," cried the Head. "You others go to your places. Dismiss the school, please, Mr. Perkins. Rawlings and Trendall, who were in that other car, who witnessed the accident I have referred to, and who disgracefully failed to come forward, those two will go at once to my room. There they will be dealt with."

The school gasped. Clive felt as if a ton weight had of a sudden been shifted from his shoulders. He watched the forlorn figures of Rawlings and Trendall shambling after the Headmaster.

THE RUINED TOWER

Even the longest of terms comes at length to an end; and finally that eventful first term which Clive and his friends had spent at Ranleigh drew to a close. The last days were carefully and jubilantly marked off by every junior boy on a calendar of his own making. Boxes were packed, good-byes said, and the school divided for the holidays.

"Shall try to get over to see you chaps in the hols.," declared Masters, on the eve of departure. "Much depends, though, on the Governor. Can't do railway journeys on my allowance. Sickening, isn't it?"

"Rotten," Clive consoled him. "But it's only twenty miles, eh?"

"Barely. Perhaps a bit more. Nothing on a motor," agreed Masters, recollecting their trip to Guildford. "And you've a car, haven't you?"

Bert grinned at that, a satirical grin which made Clive boil with anger. Hugh got very red. He looked closely at Masters to see if he were poking fun at him.

"Not going to have a chap like you pulling our leg, you know," he said haughtily and somewhat threateningly. "What do you mean by a car?"

"Why, a car, of course. What else?" grinned Bert provocatively.

"Quite so," admitted Masters, a little puzzled. He had understood, in fact, from Clive's glowing description of the home-made vehicle of which that hopeful and Hugh were joint inventors and proprietors that it was something really very fine. He never imagined, indeed, and had never been given data on which to imagine, that the said car consisted of odds and ends, that the workshop engine was the propelling force, that the steering gear was of the crudest, that bicycle wheels did service in front, while the rector's tricycle had supplied that all-important part, the back axle. Clive in his descriptions of mechanical matters appertaining to himself was wont to wax very enthusiastic. He clothed his inventions in a covering of gloss, which, to the uneducated eyes of Masters, was quite opaque. That car, then, to this same Masters, had always been imagined as a car, not a collection of odd bits.

"Oh!" exclaimed Hugh at length, seeing that no attempt was being made to make fun of the invention. "Well, Clive, a bit more than twenty miles, eh? How'd she do it?"

"On her head. Easy. But we mightn't be able to get away. Train's easier for Masters. Let his Governor stump up. He ought to. What's a Governor for?"

That was just the very point of view from which Masters beheld his paternal relative. He went off in the train promising to see what persuasion would do. And then Susanne waved an adieu to his friends.

"Au revoir!" he sang out, his head projecting from the carriage window. "Wish you chaps a jolly time. Rawlings won't be interfering with you."

And that, indeed, was the thought of Clive and Bert and Hugh. To be quite truthful, the trio hardly now gave the immaculate Rawlings a thought. For the downfall of that young gentleman had been very sudden and very evident. He was no longer a prefect. His haughty, airy ways were gone. He was a changed individual. As for Trendall, the fat fellow's fat cheeks had seemed less fat of late. He had taken the lesson he had received very much to heart, and as if he realised his former shortcomings, had actually drifted away from Rawlings. They were no longer seen together. Their familiar figures, arm in arm, were no longer observed on the playing fields. Instead, Trendall had moped for a while, and then had begun to draw other friends about him. Instead of a sulky nod, he now even deigned to smile at Susanne and the others, and on this, the very last day of the term, he had made a confession.

"Look here, you chaps," he said, somewhat lamely perhaps, for it wanted no little courage to tackle the matter, "I'm afraid I've been rather a pig."

"Eh? Er—oh—don't mention it," was Masters' instant rejoinder, somewhat characteristic of that young gentleman.

"Shut up!" growled Susanne promptly. "Well, Trendall?" he said encouragingly. "We don't think it."

"Then I do. I've acted like a pig and a bounder, and I'm sorry. I've been an ungrateful brute all along and want to apologise. It's late in the day, of course, but then, there it is, I'm sorry."

He held out a hand, lamely again, as if fearful that it would pass unnoticed. But Susanne seized it instantly. It was like Susanne, the warm-hearted Frenchman.

"Good! Very good!" he said. "We're to be friends from now, eh? I'm glad."

"So am I; it's no use being enemies," declared Bert, taking the proffered hand too.

"Rotten!" reflected Clive. "It'll be something nice to look forward to after the hols."

"Ripping!" cried Masters warmly.

And thus was the quarrel made up, much to the relief of all, and particularly of Trendall. As for the guilt of the latter, together with Rawlings, it had leaked out soon after their denouncement before the assembled school that Old B. had seen both cars at the flying meeting, and hearing of the accident had at once given information.

Home at last! The escapade which had sent Clive and his friends to Ranleigh seemed to have been forgotten. The Rector beamed on his boys.

"Wouldn't have sent you at all if I'd known that young Darrell was going to Ranleigh also," he laughed. "Of course, it meant more mischief. That young Darrell's a terrible fellow. Well, here you are, back again. Let's hope you'll have a fine holiday."

"Vote we go prospecting," said Hugh, two days later, when all were settled down. "There's that place we've gassed about so often."

"Place? Lots of places everywhere, and we do nothing but gas," grumbled Bert. "Which particular place?"

"Merton Tower, of course, booby!" cried Clive. "You knew all along."

"Well, there's a place called Merton Tower. What next?"

"There's an ass known as Bert Seymour," declared his brother in disgust. "As if you weren't there when we were talking."

"Oh, I'm there nearly always," came the rejoinder, for the two brothers often sparred. "But you do the talking, you and Clive. I have to listen. It's no wonder if I forget things. Let's get along. There's a tower, a place, and I'm supposed to know that a place is this Merton Tower."

If looks could have brought punishment, Bert would have been a sad individual. He grinned at the threatening glances of his friends.

"Well?" he demanded again, impatiently.

"We're going to explore it," said Clive, forgetting his anger at the prospect before him. "It's said to be haunted."

Hugh went a trifle pale. Ghost stories and tales of haunted houses always had that effect on him.

"Haunted?" he repeated in awed tones.

"Rot!" reflected Bert rudely. "Stuff and nonsense!"

"There's a mystery about the place," Clive proceeded, ignoring the last remarks. "No one dares to enter. We tried once, Hugh and I."

"And funked, eh? Saw the ghost and bolted."

Bert chuckled loudly. It was true of him that he was as a rule a listener in the councils of these three. Often enough his dreamy eyes told that his thoughts were far away, probably on the cricket field, while the chatter of his friends passed unnoticed. But he had a habit of suddenly giving his attention, of picking out scraps which came to his ears and of ridiculing them. That was the time when Clive and Hugh ground their teeth, flashed indignant glances at him, and even threatened violence. Not that Bert minded. He often chuckled the louder.

"We tried once, Hugh and I," repeated Clive with an effort. It was hard to keep one's temper with such a chap as Bert.

"And bolted, probably at your own shadows," laughed his tormentor.

"And were met by a rough fellow a hundred yards or so outside the tower."

"Yes," agreed Hugh quickly. "He threatened to——"

"Whop you, eh?" teased Bert.

"To kill us if we didn't sling our hooks. That's why we bolted. He'd a knife," said Clive. "This time we go armed. Then, if it comes to a question of knives, why, we're ready."

"Yes," Hugh backed him up. "Ready for anything."

"And we're going to-day."

"Now," said Hugh.

"And expect me to risk it," laughed Bert. "Well, let's go. I'll back there'll be no man to greet us. A few jackdaws perhaps, an odd crow too. But a man with a knife, never!"

The conversation having come to an end amicably, Clive dived in at the back door of his mother's establishment, where with wonderful persuasive powers, often practised it must be confessed, he managed to induce the cook to supply three bundles of provisions.

"It'll save coming back for lunch, you chaps," he told them on his reappearance. "We shall have lots of time to explore. Supposing we found something."

"Buried gold and jewels," cried Hugh, his eyes bulging.

"Might happen," admitted the practical Bert. "There are lots of tales of hidden wealth, and some of it gets discovered. There's a yarn about this very tower."

"Gospel?" asked Clive with a jerk.

"True as possible. Place attacked some time in the old days. Rich old bounder in charge. Saw he hadn't a chance, and so dug a hole somewhere and buried his valuables. Supposing we came upon the spot. They say in the village that attempts have been made. Once a bangle was discovered. Then one of the searchers fell into a well and that put an end to the business. It was supposed to be haunted then, and the tale still holds. Lights have even been seen flitting about during the night."

"And there's a tale of buried treasure?" asked Hugh eagerly.

"Ask anyone in the village."

"What'd we do if we found it?" gasped Clive. "I know—buy a real car."

"Rather!" echoed Hugh.

To which the careful Bert made the rejoinder: "Don't count your chickens before they're hatched. Still, if the tale's true, and I believe it, why shouldn't we find the stuff? Clive'd buy back the place and kick the Rawlings out. That'd be good, better than a car by a long way."

By this time the trio were on the road astride their bicycles, and since the ruined tower for which they aimed was barely six miles distant, it took them but a little while to approach it. Then a halt was called.

"Better feed now and so have less to carry," suggested Hugh. "We'll be all the fitter for searching. By the way, supposing the door's shut. There was a door, wasn't there, Clive?"

"That chap rushed out of one, anyway," came the answer. "Vote we go cautiously. Last time we went to the place across the fields and were seen at once. Supposing we try through the copse at the back. That'll give us cover right up to the doorway."

The suggestion was voted to be a good one, as also that of Hugh. The three hopped off their machines, and selecting a sheltered spot by the highway, sat on a gate and opened their parcels of provisions. The meal ended, they mounted again and rode a mile farther, till they had passed the tower on their right and were a little behind it. Then they dismounted, passed through a gap in a hedge, and plunged into the thick cover afforded by a copse which extended to the tower.

"Safe to leave the bikes here," whispered Bert, who once he was embarked on an adventure put his heart into it. "Let's make for that tree over there. It's the nearest to the gap through which we entered, and also the tallest. Then we shall find them again easily."

"Supposing someone else does?" asked Clive doubtfully.

"And clears off? Mine belongs to the Governor," said Hugh, with recollections of what had happened on a former occasion when he had borrowed the Rector's belongings.

"Not worth talking about," declared Bert emphatically. "No one saw us enter the copse. We made sure of that. Then who's to find the bikes? If it weren't for the tree here we ourselves would have a job when it comes to returning. Here we are; prop 'em against the trunk. Now for the tower."

They thrust their way in Indian file through the copse, treading softly. Not that anyone was likely to overhear them. But then there might be someone, as on that former occasion, and as all there were burning to inspect the place and enter the tower they determined to take all precautions. There is this to be added also. Like many other people burning with enthusiasm, Clive and his friends had an inward consciousness that where others had failed they would succeed in finding the wealth said to have been buried.

Ten minutes later found them at the edge of the wood, within twenty yards of the tower. Brambles and scattered bunches of growth extended right up to the moss-clad walls. As for the tower itself, it was a tall, somewhat dilapidated affair, but better preserved in one quarter, where its battlements thrust upward toward the sky. Directly beneath them was a wide archway, overhung by a gallery far up, through apertures in which warriors of old were wont to drop masses of stone upon the heads of unwanted callers. Bert pointed them out to his comrades.

"Splendid dodge!" he said. "Rather a shock for the fellows down below. Bet they bolted."

"Those who could. A few hundredweights of stone fall with a bang," Clive reminded him. "Not much moving afterwards."

"And look at the narrow slits behind which the chaps with the arrows stood," whispered Hugh, pointing to narrow apertures flanking the door, and appearing at various heights till the battlements were reached. "Wonder what it feels like to have an arrow in you?"

Bert shuddered. "Ugh!" he reflected. "Let's get on. How are we to enter?"

The puzzle was not an easy one to solve, for when they had left their cover and reached the door, the latter was found to be a massive affair and in splendid order. There was a postern in it, firmly padlocked, however. Not even the most agile could have clambered up, and had they been able there was no entry at the top of the door.

"Done," groaned Hugh.

"Let's see," whispered Clive. "Let's creep on round the foot of the tower and see what we come to."

Brambles and ferns obstructed their path. A crumbling wall of stone crossed it, and halting for a moment they saw that it turned abruptly to the right some fifty yards away, and then again came towards the building.

"A courtyard or the garden in the old days," said Bert. "Wonder if that's where that old beggar hid the treasure?"

"Ah!" It was a very shrewd suggestion. Clive stared about him with added interest. "Hardly likely," he ventured after a while. "The old chap was cooped up, isn't that the story?"

"Yes; and hadn't a chance. Knew every farthing would be taken from him."

"And so buried it."

"Don't blame him either," declared Hugh. "But where would a fellow be most likely to bury gold under the circumstances? Not in the garden."

"Why not?" asked Bert curtly.

"Because the enemy were round there without a doubt. Probably sat behind the garden walls comfortably taking pot shots at the defenders. Look there, there's a hole in the tower right opposite. Bet you the cannon smashed the stones in. That old cove couldn't have got to the garden."

This seemed probable enough, and therefore the movement forward was proceeded with. They skirted the moss-covered foot of the tower for some fifty paces, and though all observed that the battlements above them had been much broken, and had disappeared altogether in parts, yet the height of the walls was still so great that climbing was out of the question.

"A flying machine'd be the thing," said Clive. "Looks as if we'd be beaten."

"And have to go back. Don't like that," reflected Bert.

"Only we'd get there in time for lunch," Hugh reminded them. "That's one consolation."

A complete circuit of the tower at length convinced them that entrance was more difficult than they had anticipated, if not utterly impossible. Clive inspected the padlock on the postern and declared it to be unpickable. Hugh gazed aloft as if he expected to discover a dangling ladder waiting conveniently for them. Then Bert made a movement.

"I'm going to get into that tower whatever happens," he said obstinately. "Even if it takes me a week I'm going to get inside."

They would have cheered him if there had not been need for silence. As it was, Clive slapped him approvingly on the back and then asked an all-important question.

"How's it to be done? Creep in through one of those slits for firing arrows?" he asked in bantering tones. "Or dig a way under the wall? That sounds the most likely."

"I'm going to climb by that ivy," was the steady answer. "You chaps can hang about down below to pick up the pieces. There's a window fifty feet up, just beneath the battlements, and the ivy goes right up over the top, and's as thick as my leg. I'm going to chance its bearing."

When his friends came to inspect the place they were bound to admit that the idea was practicable. At the same time it was risky, particularly for Bert. One would have thought that Hugh would have made the attempt with greater chance of success, seeing that he was a gymnast. But Bert was an obstinate fellow. He seldom shone in adventures entered upon by the Old Firm. His comrades had come to look upon him as an excellent follower, an untiring though sometimes absent-minded listener, and as a youth with caustic and satirical wit, who at times roused them to the height of anger. To hear him now obstinately declare his intention of undertaking this difficult and dangerous task was rather staggering.

"Think you'll do it?" asked Clive doubtfully. "Awfully steep, eh?"

"Walls usually are steep," came the grim rejoinder.

"Ivy might be rotten. You ain't much good at climbing," ventured Hugh.

"Because I'm never the one to show off," said Bert quickly. "I'm not much good. That I'll admit. At the same time I'm going up to that window, or be smashed to a jelly down here. Naturally, as I dislike the thought of being smashed into a jelly, I shall hang on for all I'm worth, so, after all, the matter resolves itself into a question of the strength of the ivy. I'm going."

They watched the obstinate and foolhardy fellow commence his attempt, and more than once shivered as he appeared to be falling. Presently he had reached a point high overhead and was still mounting. Indeed, in less than three minutes he had actually gained the window for which he was making and was seen to be entering.

"What one chap does, another can," said Clive. "I'm going to follow."

"And I'll be after you in a winking. There's Bert waving to us. Up you go. Who'd have thought the thing could be so easy?"

But when he came himself to make the attempt Hugh found it none too light a task. True, there were plenty of ivy stems to grip at, and an abundance of niches into which to thrust the feet. But the mass of leaves clinging to their stems thrust one away from the wall. Sometimes, too, one of the stems proved elusive, and broke away from its fellows. But Clive at length reached the safety of the window, and Hugh after him.

"Done it!" ejaculated Bert enthusiastically. "Now for a look round."

"And the treasure," Hugh reminded him. "Those chaps who searched before may not have been able to get into the place. The doors were locked, perhaps."

"I say," interrupted Clive, "wonder where that well is?"

That set them thinking deeply. They stood at the edge of the window looking into the dark interior of the tower, wondering which way to turn, and where they would find security.

"Beastly to fall into a well," reflected Bert. "Jolly dark in here, I think. Wish we'd brought candles."

"Come on," said Hugh. "What's the good of funking? We're here, inside the tower, and may as well make the most of our opportunities."

Very gingerly indeed did they set about the exploration of the interior. Common sense told them that care would be needed. For the results of damp and decay and neglect were everywhere apparent. There were even bushes growing on the stone floor upon which they now stood. A tree of quite respectable proportions had taken root on the roof overhead, and its boughs dangled toward the window by which they had entered.

Beyond, at the far side of the chamber to which their climb had brought them, there was a doorway, of stone like the rest of the building, though one of the blocks which went to make the roof of the arch had tumbled from its position and lay broken in pieces on the floor. Hugh led the way towards it, peered through, only to find that he was looking into another room of vast proportions. Then he made for a narrow opening in the wall to his right, and began at once to ascend the steps constructed, as one could see, in the interior of the wall itself.

"Leads to the roof," he whispered over his shoulder. "Let's have a look round first."

Perhaps they stayed ten minutes on the giddy perch to which their climb took them. They gazed over the broken battlements. They peered down through those apertures through which the defenders had been wont to drop uncomfortable masses of rock on their attackers. They even clambered to the summit of a tiny tower set up in one corner where, without doubt, the sentry in bygone days had taken up his station. It commanded a grand view of the surrounding country, and from it Clive was able to look down upon the domain which his father had owned, and which should have been his one day but for the coming of those strangers. Then they turned from the roof, descended the steep flight of steps built in the wall, and searched for an outlet to other parts of the building. Clive was the first to find it. Led by him the party descended to the next floor, only to discover that here time and decay had done its work more thoroughly. The floor was almost gone. One had to cross to a doorway opposite by walking on the top of the wall which had once supported the edge of the floor. He gained the doorway, devoid of door like all the rest in this building, peered through it into a place which common sense told him must have been the upper part of a chapel, though the roof was gone in one part. And then, of a sudden, he lifted a finger to his lips.

"Voices," he whispered incredulously. "I can hear men talking."

"Certain! Sure!" agreed Bert. "Three different people, I think."

"Down below too," chimed in Hugh, having joined them. "What's it mean?"

After waiting there for perhaps five minutes, the three gently stole across the floor of what had probably been a gallery. Peering cautiously over the broken balustrade of this they looked below them. Then they withdrew their heads suddenly. For four men were seated below about a fire which blazed brightly in the ancient hearth of the old dwelling. Who they were or what they were none could guess; but this was certain: they were disreputable-looking, and one had a face which was familiar, while in the case of a second his head and shoulders were hidden by a portion of the masonry.

"The fellow who chased us away once before," whispered Clive.

"I'm certain," agreed Hugh, jerking his head decisively.

"And—and, do you know, you fellows," said Bert, with great deliberation, "do you know that there have been a series of robberies round these parts lately?"

Hugh shook his head. Clive looked the question he wished to ask.

"Well, there have been," added Bert, "and I wouldn't wonder if those are the beggars."

"Burglars?"

"Yes," Bert answered curtly to Clive's question.

"Then—er don't you think——?" began Hugh. "Don't you think it'd be wise for us to——?"

"I don't," Bert responded abruptly. "I've got in here after a bit of a climb. I'll see this thing to a finish. If they're burglars, all the better. Let's get back to the balustrade and listen."