This was the flaring notice, executed in giant capitals, and with lavish expenditure of red and green inks, and the comment it provoked was considerable. Curious seniors and excited fags marched in a body to Study No. 9, and found the genial Patch, his sleeves rolled up, standing behind an improvised counter—he had moved the study table into the doorway. On the table stood a stack of printed papers.

"What's this rot about a paper?" demanded one of the fellows.

"Pay your penny, comrade," urged Patch blandly, "and see for yourself! I thank you."

Once started, the demand for papers was extensive, especially as the purchasers evinced great interest in the contents of the Busy Bee. Within a few minutes the stack on the table had diminished by half. In all parts of the House fellows were studying the papers with amused expressions.

All at once there was a sound as of an enraged dinosaurus, and Cummles strode angrily along the corridor.

"Where's Patch?" he yelled.

"Here, comrade! What do you require? Have you a spare penny? Then I would suggest—"

"Suggest be jiggered! This is what I've come about." He lugged a copy of the Busy Bee out of his pocket, and held it about two inches from Patch's nose. "See that—that!"

He pointed with his finger. "That" was a reproduced photograph, covering half a page of the paper; and it depicted that humiliating scene on the night—now a week back—when the Cripples had been photographed in the old Science room.

The thing was horrible in its deadly distinctness. Against a dark background the white, piteous faces of the Cripples, distorted with sneezings, dipping into handkerchiefs, in every phase of distress, showed as plainly as a lantern-picture.

Patch looked at it and laughed with immense heartiness.

"Ha, ha, ha!" he chuckled. "Yes, very funny indeed! Screamingly funny! I'm so glad you noticed it—one of the features of the issue!"

"Funny, you goggle-eyed idiot!" roared Cummles. "Funny! You call that—" he choked, "funny?"

"Why, of course! Don't you think—"

"Look here," interrupted Cummles, "it's like your thundering cheek to print that photo, and you're not going to sell any more of your burbling papers!"

"No?" queried Patch politely. "Well, well! It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

"Bother the day! Look here—look here—"

He was quite speechless by now, and he made a sudden dart at the pile of papers, with the evident intention of seizing the lot.

"What are you up to now, Cummles?" asked a quiet voice. It was the voice of Fane; and the bully-killer himself stepped from the interior of Study 9 across to the counter.

"I'll soon show you what I'm up to!" said Cummles, too heated to avoid a possible row with the youngster who had thrashed him early in the term.

"Well, I'm sorry to interfere in your amusing little games," returned Fane evenly. "But it happens, old tomato, that we don't want you in here. Hook it!"

"Hook it?" repeated Cummles furiously.

"Yes—hook it, scoot, buzz off, vamoose!"

"And mind the step," added Patch thoughtfully.

Cummles gave a sort of howl. He dived forward, seeking to upset the counter by lifting a table-leg; but Fane, vaulting over the obstruction, landed heavily on his back and bowled him over with no ceremony at all.

"Ow! Oof!" howled the bully. "Gerroff! Lemme get up!"

"Dear me—I didn't notice you there," said Fane sweetly. "Dropped something?"

Cummles, his face as black as thunder, jumped up and faced his tormentor in a furious rage. He drew back his right arm, as if to swing for the other's face.... Fane eyed him calmly.

At last, "All right—we'll see!" fumed the bully with sharp realization that he did not care to come to blows with the bully-killer. Those small, hard, knuckly fists of Fane's were too damaging to be rashly invited. "We'll see!"

And Cummles made the best of a bad scene by striding off without another glance at anyone.

The Busy Bee had made a sensation, there was no doubt. The reproduced photograph of the Cripples, labelled "The Martyrs' Meeting: Cummles and Co., and their Ju-Ju," together with the satirical article that accompanied it, was a journalistic "boom" of the first water. And Cummles and Co. raged impotently. They could not prevent the sale of the Busy Bee, and the whole school was presently laughing at them.

Having sold all the copies that had been printed, Patch and the others set about their amusement for the day, which the cheerful Septimus intended to celebrate in a way all his own.

He had persuaded Jack to give him a hand with one of his inventions, and Jack, having nothing in particular to do, had consented.

All that afternoon Jack slaved in the workshop, surrounded by levers and wheels, steel bars and cranks. On his glumly remarking that they were the two biggest cranks, Septimus cheerfully replied, "Speak for yourself, old Sport. And when I've sold this invention for a million, I'll remember that the ox was worthy of his hire."

Jack groaned.

It was not until the cricketing team had returned that they came back to the house. Arrived there, Jack learned that Billy Faraday had not come back with the others.

"No," he told Silver, "he's not been back, I'm pretty sure. I wonder—"

He bit his lip and frowned. Was it altogether possible that Billy had fallen foul of Lazare and his gang? It seemed a trifle ridiculous, but—

Just then a fag entered the room, carrying a letter in his hand.

"For you, Symonds," he said.

"Ha!" said Jack. "This is probably from Billy, and will explain. How did you come by it, youngster?"

"A fellow on a bicycle was passing the gate, and he gave it to me. Said it was for you, and I brought it along."

"Oh, thanks. You can cut now." He looked at the address—his name, in pencil. Then he ripped the envelope open. He pulled out a thin sheet of paper, like a leaf from a pocket-book. He looked on it with growing amazement, that was replaced by an expression of horror.

"Jove—they've got him!" he said, hoarsely.

"Got him?" repeated Silver. "What do you mean?"

For answer, Jack passed over the sheet of paper.

"Faraday is held a prisoner," it ran, "and says the Black Star is with you. Keep this to yourself, and meet me, with the Star to-morrow night, nine o'clock, at Day's Corner. Attempt no treachery, or it will be the worse for your friend—and yourself. It is the only way. Your failure to turn up as stated or any trickery will be the end of Faraday.—Lazare."

"Whew! Is this a joke?" asked Silver. "And who the dickens is Lazare?"

But Jack did not answer him. He stared at Silver as if he were not there, and his face had gone perfectly white.

CHAPTER XVII

HUE AND CRY

"Old fellow!" burst out Silver, clutching Jack by the arm; "you look as if you'd seen a ghost! What in the world's all this rot? You don't mean to say—"

"Mean to say!" cried Jack, suddenly coming to life. "Look here, Silver—I'll tell you the truth. This letter's from a couple of low-down crooks who've got hold of Billy some way or other, and if we don't look out he'll be—"

"You mean he's been kidnapped?"

"Kidnapped—yes. Come along to our study, old chap, and we'll see what we can think out. I tell you, it's an ugly hole, and I'm a good bit scared!"

Silver followed Jack to Study No. 9, where Fane and Patch were already ensconced. The ominous note from Lazare was passed around, and the four sat down together to consider what would be their course of action. Silver, of course, wanted to know a great many things all at once, but he got, at least, an inkling of the ill-fated Black Star and what had already happened during that memorable term.

"Well, comrades," said Patch, "we've just got to do something! I've been thinking. First of all, we go to the Head, and make a confession of everything we know. Then, we'll have to get Doctor Daw arrested—he thinks we haven't got anything against him, but we know enough to get him hooked for conspiracy! That should put him out of the road. Then—"

He paused and considered.

Jack remembered something. "Oh, I've got another stunt that may be of use! You know that cave on Dog-face? I've always thought that that's where Humbolt was hiding—and probably Lazare as well. Now, if that's so, then we ought to find Billy there."

"Good for you, Jack!" cried Patch. "It should be worth trying, at any rate. We could sneak over and hold the beggars up—nab them. That would just settle things handsomely, but I don't know whether we'd be able—"

"Wouldn't we?" demanded Fane, fiercely. "If Billy's there, on Dog-face, I don't see any reason why we shouldn't row over and get him back!"

"Humbolt's got a gun, and he might use it."

"No matter. There's Billy's pistol here, and we'd have everything in our favour. We could creep in on the beggars late at night, when they're asleep—!"

"Well, if boldness counts for anything, the scheme ought to be a good one. But—"

"Another thing is, if we don't do that, what on earth are we going to do? If Jack calmly hands over the Star, we've no guarantee that Billy's going to be let go free again! With giddy criminals like Lazare and that other fellow, goodness knows what might happen. Why, they might even shut Billy's mouth by—well, throwing him into the bay—anything.

"If we try to nab the chap when he meets Jack, he'd probably smell a rat, and do what he says! Or put a bullet into Jack—I wouldn't trust the beggars a foot, and that's a fact! The only way is to hop into them when they're not looking; and the trip to Dog-face looks good to me."

Patch considered, rubbing his chin with his forefinger. He took off his spectacles and polished them.

Then, "It's a risk," he said. "But, now you put it that way, I reckon we can't do anything else! If we collar Billy and get away with him, then the other fellows could wait till afterwards, see? The police could be put on their track, and, depend upon it, they'd be grabbed sooner or later. But once we've got Billy safe, we can tell them to go and eat coke!"

"Of course we could; we'd have the whip hand over them. My opinion is—make the trip to Dog-face now—or very soon—and tell the Head nothing about it."

"Why not?"

"Well, simply because, if we tell the Head, he won't let us go."

Patch seemed to ponder this statement for a minute. "Yes," he said at last, "that's true enough. The Head would forbid it, and get some blundering bobby to take the job on. Look here—who will go?"

"The lot of us," said Jack decisively. "I suppose Silver's on, aren't you?"

"Sure thing," said Silver quietly. "We can get a skiff out of the sheds. I have the key—and sneak out along the edge of the bay. It wouldn't do if we were to strike out boldly for Dog-face! We'd be spotted pretty quickly. But what are our plans?"

"We'll see, comrade. First of all, we'll have to reconnoitre. Then we'll make sure of our attack. I've got an idea—we won't go until about two o'clock in the morning. If they've got a watch out at that time, then all I can say is, they're pretty cautious!"

And so, finally, it was arranged. The conspirators went to bed early that night—and they awoke early the next morning. At five minutes past one, to be precise, the little band of four cautiously left the school grounds and presently came to the river, where they launched a skiff on the softly-lapping water.

It was an adventure that was as wine to the spirit of Jack Symonds and his pals. They were strung to a high pitch of keenness, by the thought of Billy Faraday and what was happening to him; and if there was a trace of nervousness, the darkness of the night and the danger of the venture might have excused it.

Out they rowed into the bay, hugging the shore closely, as they turned in the direction of Dog-face. The skiff crept along almost without sound; there was the ruffle of parted waters, and the subdued grumbling of the oars in the row-locks. Despite this, they made progress; and soon the black bulk of Dog-face lay blotted against the stars.

"Softly now," said Jack Symonds. "Quit rowing—we'll drift there. The tide is just right, fortunately. Easy."

In breathless silence the skiff drifted down on Dog-face. There was much starlight, and there was no knowing whether they were being observed or not. At any moment there might ring out a challenge, or perhaps they might be fired upon, and no questions asked. It was a nerve-testing time.

Finally, the keel grated on shingle; the slight sound was swallowed up in the wash of tiny waves on Dog-face. Patch leapt out, and after a minute or so of whispering it was decided to leave Silver in the boat, ready to push her out and pull for the College. The boat was backed into the beach again so that her stern rested lightly on the shingle; Silver, paddling softly, kept her nose pointed away from the shore.

Then, the three others stole quietly away. Nothing was left to chance; they took ten minutes to approach the entrance to the cave, using the utmost caution, striving to make only the most infinitesimal sounds.

At the mouth they listened for a long, long time; but they could hear nothing.

"We'll just have to chance it," Patch whispered in Jack's ear. "We'll have to go right in. You've got the pistol—let me take the torch and go first. You be ready to let fly if anything happens." Fane gripping a cricket-stump in the manner of a club, brought up the rear.

It needed a fine nerve to enter that noisome cave, at dead of night, and not knowing what dangers attended the act. But the three pals did not hesitate at all. They slipped inside; all was perfectly quiet.

It suddenly occurred to Patch that perhaps they had been wrong from the outset—perhaps their whole supposition was at fault. That would account for the silence—there was nobody here.

"Soon settle that," he murmured. "Ready, Jack?"

"You bet." Jack's voice came back in an unfaltering whisper. He gripped the revolver tightly; he could not deny that it lent him confidence.

Patch pressed over the switch of the electric torch, and swept the cave with light. The place was bare of any occupant. Only, in one corner, what looked like a bundle of rags lay humped up; and Patch tiptoed across.

"Billy!" he said softly. And it was indeed Billy himself. They shook him by the shoulder, heartily glad that he was alive and soon to be at liberty.

He opened his eyes, and stared for a moment without comprehension. Then, "You chaps!" he said. "This is great! I never thought—here, cut off these things."

They snicked the cords that bound, and he stood up, rubbing his cramped limbs, and shaking them all by the hand.

"Jingo, but you're dinkum pals," he said. "I thought they had us beaten, but—"

"Who is it?" asked Patch. "Lazare and Humbolt?"

Billy nodded. "Yes, the brutes! They tried torturing me, and they got the information they wanted—I said that Jack had the Star. I had to—they made me."

Billy smiled a wry sort of smile. "They've got a little motor-launch, too, and I suppose they thought I was safe enough here. But they may be back at any moment. We'd better clear."

"True for you," said Jack; and the four of them got out of the cave into the faint starlight. "Phew! I can't say that the merry old cave is exactly—"

There was a sudden blaze of light, and he stopped short.

"You will put your hands up, and drop that gun," said a strange voice. "Look sharp!"

Under the menace of a heavy revolver Jack had to drop his own weapon. He almost groaned with despair. Just at the moment of their triumph, Humbolt had returned, and, what was worse, he had already got the upper hand.

Helpless, the little quartette of schoolboys faced the grinning Tiger, who was clearly enjoying his victory to the full.

"Thought you were clever, eh?" asked Tiger, in a sneering voice. "You're a lot of fools, that's all, and you've put your foot in it this time, let me tell you." He turned to Billy. "Well, my young spark, is the chap that hid the Star among this lot?"

"He is," returned Jack quietly. "Look here, my good fellow, we're sick and tired of hanging on to the rotten old Star. You've got us beaten now, haven't you? If I promise to bring the Star right back with me, you won't harm me or my friends here?"

"No," said Tiger, shortly. "Provided you stick to your part of the bargain."

Jack was very much at his ease by now, but he was thinking with lightning rapidity, and trying to remember something that the old gentleman had told him on the night of the boxing in Windsor about this very Humbolt. Ah, he had it!

"Yes," he pursued, shivering, "this place gives me the creeps, and I wish we'd never had anything to do with the Star. Why, we nearly got bitten by a snake coming up here—"

"What!" said Humbolt, sharply.

"Yes, a great big black snake, and it ran into that crack you're standing on now. A whopper, it was—"

Jack had staked everything on that throw. He had remembered in time what he had been told about "Jim Camp's peculiar horror of snakes," and desperately he brought the subject into the conversation.

It was amazingly successful. At the first mention of snakes, Humbolt had looked distinctly uneasy. But when Jack added that the reptile had sought refuge in the ground at his feet, the outwitted man could not resist a long, searching glance at the fissure referred to.

It was his undoing. Jack Symonds was ready; and, like some splendid machine, touched off in an instant, he sprang through the air and crashed heavily upon Humbolt.

Taken by surprise, Tiger's grip upon his weapon naturally relaxed, and the impact sent it flying a dozen feet away. But he was too strong, too solid, to go to the earth. He stood and wrestled furiously. Jack grabbed the man's arms and tried to prevent him from getting in a blow, for he had seen the effect of Humbolt's hitting, and had no desire to be hit himself.

The man was very strong, a very pocket Hercules. And Jack, athletic as he was, felt himself gradually being overmastered. The thick, short arms struggled in his hold; one got free, and Jack felt it drawn back, and waited, heart in mouth, for the sickening thump—but it never came.

Instead, Humbolt staggered, gave a groan, and Jack saw that he was falling. Hastily he glanced up and saw Fane surveying his cricket-stump ruefully.

"I'm sorry I hit from behind," the latter said, "but the beggar was out to spifflicate you. I banged him on the head."

"Good man—don't apologize," said Jack, with immense cheerfulness. "Come on—cut!"

Even as Jack jumped away, Humbolt, dazed as he was, made a blind grab at his legs. The man's tenacity was admirable; he was possessed of the instincts of a bulldog-ant. And, seeing his late captives, escaping, he roared out at the full pitch of his lungs.

"Lazare! Quick! Help! Lazare!"

So Lazare was somewhere handy, then! Or was it only a bluff? Bluff or not, they raced madly for the skiff, calling out to Silver as they ran; and after a brief, rocky journey, came upon the shingle-beach and the boat.

Everything worked with silken smoothness. The four boys packed into the boat, taking an oar each, while Patch made ready to steer.

"Six good ones," said Silver; and Jack, with the best oar in Deepwater College beside him, was strangely thrilled. He put lots of weight and pull into those six strokes, and the skiff shot out from under the black shadow of Dog-face across the smooth, tinkling water. A breath of sea-breeze fanned their faces.

"We've done them!" said Jack, delightedly. "After all—and I thought we'd regularly slipped when Humbolt caught us!"

"Don't be so sure," said Patch. "Listen."

"What?"

The next moment his question was answered. There came the muffled pop-pop-popping of a motor-boat exhaust, and a white speck suddenly shot into view, around one of the capes of Dog-face Island!

CHAPTER XVIII

CONCLUSION

"Jingo!" said Jack, excitedly; "they're after us—I can hear them! Buck up, you fellows—we'll spurt and beat 'em yet."

In Jack and Silver the escaping skiff carried perhaps the best oarsmen at Deepwater College; and they now bent to their task with a will, and Fane and Billy Faraday, who were rowing in the bows, took example from their pals.

The skiff shot ahead; the ripple of water from the bow changed into a rushing, steady note. The sea was calm as a millpond, and now that they were out into the bay, the sound of the pursuing motor-boat came staccato and clear.

There was no pretence now of hugging the shore; they were making a bee-line for the College jetty. But they were visible to the men on board the motor-boat; and, fast though they were going, there was no question as to which craft showed the superior speed. The white speck of the power launch grew in size until it was almost distinct in the starlight.

Lazare, or Humbolt, or perhaps both of them, were shouting—but the grimly-determined schoolboys paid no heed. As if they intended to pull up! But the miscreants in the launch had another argument—and a more forcible one.

There came the clear report of a revolver, surprisingly minute in the enormous space of the bay, and a bullet ricochetted from the surface not eight feet from the skiff.

"I say—" began Billy.

"Don't say anything," said Patch tersely. "Two can play at that game, Humbolt! Give me that pistol, Jack."

"What are you going to do?" asked Billy, straining at his oar.

Patch did not reply. He turned round, and waited until a red flash and a delayed explosion advertised another shot. Then he lifted his pistol carefully, and fired two shots in rapid succession at the pursuing craft.

Some sort of a result was instantly perceptible. There came a distinct thump! and a snarling sort of noise that ended rather abruptly. Followed by three shots from Humbolt in quick time, all of which were without effect, although they whistled unpleasantly close.

"Pull!" sang out Patch. "Pull like the dickens! I believe I've stonkered their engine. Listen—she's misfiring like anything!"

Indeed, the explosions of the petrol launch were now decidedly irregular—and after a while they ceased altogether.

"Done them!" panted Jack. "Diddled the beggars again! Patch, you ought to get a King's Prize for that shot!"

Triumphantly the Deepwater College fellows pulled at their oars, and there was still no sound from the rival boat. After an interval the engine took up its beat again—but slowly and uncertainly, as if it were likely to break down at any moment.

"They're going slow!" announced Patch. "We can dish them at this rate. Isn't that the Coll. jetty across there? By jove, there's a light—it must be the Head! Pull up, my giddy buccaneers!"

Falling to the oars with a will, the boat's crew soon arrived at the jetty. They listened there for any sound of the petrol launch's engine; but the immense bay was quite still.

"They've broken down," said Fane, "or else they've turned back, and we can't hear them. What price capturing the beggars! Get hold of Mr. Glenister, and a few hefty fellows out of the Sixth, and we could grab them."

"If so, we mustn't lose any time," said Patch. "Come along, you fellows!"

They raced back to the College, and hurried in through a window that they had conveniently left open.

There they had the greatest surprise of the night. They were moving along the masters' corridor, on their way to the Head's study, when Doctor Daw's door opened, and the accomplice of Lazare himself appeared. He was carrying a handbag, and wore an overcoat—his other attire was all for travelling.

Lightning comprehension burst on Jack's brain.

"You third-rate scoundrel!" he said. "So you're getting out of it, are you?"

"Getting out of what?" snarled Daw, obviously affrighted by the coincidence of the boy's arrival and his departure.

"You know," returned Jack grimly. "You'd better stay, though, because the game's up."

"I don't know what you mean!" ground out Daw savagely. "Let me pass, you young cubs, or I'll find a way to make you!"

And he lifted his arm threateningly. It was a fatal move. Young Fane, the bully-killer, had a habit of jumping through the air and collaring people who thus threatened him. He jumped now, and his healthy weight, slung around in the vicinity of Daw's neck, hurled the master to the floor with a resounding crash. Jack, only a whit slower than his pal, jumped too, and the both of them held the fellow pinned to the floor.

But Daw was really desperate. What had given him the alarm—had sent him out of his room, in escape, at this hour—was not obvious. But what was obvious was that he was madly anxious to get away. He fought like two men, and the two powerful boys had their work cut out to secure him. Once he planted a fist in Jack's face with tremendous force, and Fane alone kept up the struggle.

But Billy and Silver were at hand, and, recovering from their indecision, they too hurled themselves upon the villain.

Suddenly the Head's room was opened, and the Head, in dressing-gown and carrying a light, appeared on the scene. He saw five persons struggling in an inextricable knot upon his floor, and for the moment he did not know what to think. His first thought was that these were burglars; then he recognized his own boys.

"Patch! Silver!" he ejaculated. "What is this disgraceful conduct? What do you mean by being out of—"

At that moment Fane secured an expert wrestling hold upon the struggling Daw, and that person, recognizing defeat, burst into a torrent of quite unprintable profanity.

"My goodness!" exclaimed the Head, his ears assaulted by the outburst. "Daw—is that you? And what is the meaning of this?"

"I'll tell you what it means," said Jack trenchantly. "This man here is in league with a couple of kidnappers and thieves, and we're holding him for inspection. You'd better telephone to the police, sir. His friends are out on the bay with a couple of revolvers and a damaged motor-boat."

"It's a lie," roared Daw, accompanying the words with a few vile adjectives.

"That will do, Daw," said the Head coldly. "There is no need to swear like that—even if this charge is a false one. Surely you can make some explanation. I cannot believe that you are—"

"Sir," said Jack boldly, "I make no charge I cannot support some way or other. This man is dangerous, and I give you my word of honour that he should be tied up pending explanation. He must not be allowed to escape."

There was something in the earnestness of the boy's tone that had an effect upon the Head. Daw, writhing and cursing ineffectually, was not a sight calculated to inspire one with a sense of his innocence. Patch settled the question by producing the revolver and holding it to Daw's head, while the others bound his hands and feet.

"This must be explained," said the Head grimly. His eyebrows had gone up at the sight of the revolver, but its effect had been to lend colour to a somewhat fantastic story. "I was seeking a little relaxation," he explained, "by a quiet hour of reading, being unable to sleep. I am interrupted—but come into my study."

In the study, accordingly, the full story was told, and the Head was vastly surprised. Jack withheld nothing—even describing the various nocturnal excursions that the Star had necessitated. The adventure of the Indian hawker and the substitution of a dummy for Billy in the Upper Fifth class, however, he deemed it advisable to suppress.

"You have been very frank, my boy," said the Head approvingly, "and I quite believe your story. It is a thing that I never imagined would happen at Deepwater—it seems, you must admit, utterly far-fetched. No doubt you would have been well advised to have made a confidant of myself or one of your masters at an earlier stage, but I am glad that everything has turned out for the best. The only thing that remains is the apprehension of those two criminals on the boat."

"It is nearly daylight, sir," said Patch. "If you were to ring up the police-station at Windsor, no doubt the police could prevent the escape of the men!"

"I shall do so, and at once," said the Head. "It is highly necessary that they should be taken. And as for Redisham of the Sixth, I must find occasion to speak severely to him. In my opinion he is more misguided than depraved, and a word at this stage will mean all the difference for him."

"I think he could be let off lightly, sir," said Billy. "He's not a bad fellow at heart, but I fancy Daw had some hold over him."

"Whatever that hold may have been," said the Head gravely, "I imagine that it will be valueless in the near future. The authorities will be able to see to that. And now I must ring the police-station."

He did so, and with the result that, promptly advised of the facts, the police secured their men the next day, and were greatly pleased to have caught Lazare in particular. The man had been wanted for years, but had always had just that skill to keep clear of their meshes.

Billy put his case in the hands of a lawyer, and the three associates were convicted—and in one of His Majesty's prisons were kept from mischief for a period of many years.

The four friends in Study 9 were not displeased that the exciting events of the term had now come to a definite stop. As Billy remarked, holding the flashing, sparkling Star in his hand, "It was pretty fierce while it lasted, but the pace was a killer! I'm glad it's all over, real glad. Although it's served to give me three of the best pals a fellow ever had.... Yes, chaps, it's all over—the excitement's done. And the Black Star will be in Mason's hands before we return for next term."

The Eagle Press, Ltd., Allen Street, Waterloo.