The Master of the Shell Part 47

"What's that for?" asked Dig, who felt quite out of the running.

"Never mind. Cut away; there's no time to lose. Don't let anyone see you."

Dig obeyed, and selected one of the turfs in question, which he clandestinely conveyed up to his room.

"Now lend a hand to wrap it up," said Arthur. "Don't you see it'll make a parcel just about the size and weight of the sack? Mind how you tie it up--a double knot, not a bow."

Dig began to perceive what the sport was at last, and grinned complacently as he tied up the new parcel into an exact counterfeit of the old.

Arthur overhauled it critically, and p.r.o.nounced it all right. "Now,"

said he, "we'll write him a letter."

He sat down and dashed off the following, Dig nudging vehement approval of the contents from behind.

"Sir,--I'm a cad and a liar and a thief. Don't believe a word I say.

You can tell anyone you like. Most of them know already. Yours truly,

"Jerry Sneak."

"That's ripping!" exclaimed the admiring Dig, as this elegant epistle was carefully folded into the original envelope, and, after being gummed down, was thrust under the string of the counterfeit parcel. "Oh, I wish I could be there to see it opened!"

"We may get into a row for it," said Arthur. "I don't care. It'll show him up and be a real leg-up for Marky. Look alive now, and come and put it back in his room."

So they sallied up once more and carefully replaced the parcel exactly where they had found it, and then, rejoicing exceedingly, dodged down again. It seemed to them a politic thing just to look in at the Forum on their way down, to witness the end of the debate and take part in the division. They had not the slightest idea what the debate was about, but they made themselves prominent among the "Ays," and cheered loudly when the motion was declared to be carried by two votes.

Felgate nodded to them as he pa.s.sed out, little guessing the real meaning of the affectionate smile with which they returned the greeting.

"So your cold's better, youngster?" said he to Arthur.

"Looks like it," replied Arthur.

Felgate's first glance as he entered the room was towards the corner in which he had left his parcel.

He had just been cording it up that evening when he suddenly remembered his engagement at the Forum, and in the hurry of the discovery he had carelessly left it out, instead of, as he had intended, locking it up.

"However," thought he to himself, "it's all safe as it happens. I won't send it over to Bickers till to-morrow afternoon, just before the master's session. It will be far more effective if he opens it in the brute's presence; and, after all, I don't care a twopenny-piece if he knows it comes from me or not--the cad!"

He had half a mind to open the letter and tell Mr Bickers to mention his name if he chose; but just as he was about to do so Munger came in to see him. So he abandoned the idea and locked the parcel up safely in his drawer.

Felgate had, as the reader may have judged, come to the conclusion that it was time to play his trump card against his enemy. Railsford's reporting of him to the doctor had been, to mix metaphors a little, the last straw which breaks the patient camel's back.

He had had a very warm and uncomfortable quarter of an hour with the head-master, and, as we know, had defended himself on the plea that Railsford, being a malefactor himself, was not competent to judge of the conduct of his boys. The doctor had severely silenced this covert accusation, although taking note of it sufficiently to suggest the very awkward string of questions which he put the following morning to the unlucky Master of the Sh.e.l.l.

Felgate, however, had an impression that his statement to the doctor had missed fire; and being determined not wholly to cast his trump card away, he had walked across and sought an interview with Mr Bickers.

That estimable gentleman was considerably impressed by discovering, first of all, that this boy was the author of the mysterious letter last term, and secondly, that he possessed such satisfactory evidence of the strange story.

He accepted Felgate's statement that his sole motive was the credit of Grandcourt and the relief of his own conscience, without too particularly inquiring into its value, and undertook not to mention his informer's name in any use he might have to make of the information.

To that end he suggested it would be better for him to have the "evidence" to produce when required. Felgate promised to send it over to him next day, if that would suit. Mr Bickers said it would suit admirably. There was to be a master's meeting in the evening, when no doubt the question would come up, and if Felgate preferred not to appear himself, he might send Mr Bickers the things there with a letter, which the master promised to read without disclosing the name of the writer.

This seemed a satisfactory plan, and Felgate hoped that in return for what he was doing Mr Bickers would intercede with the doctor to restore him to his prefecture. Which Mr Bickers said he would do, and the interview ended.

Felgate had not much difficulty in possessing himself of the "articles."

Arthur had himself exhibited them to him last term, and he remembered the corner of the locker in which they had lain. Probably Arthur had never looked at them since, and would be very unlikely to miss them now.

Even if he did, Felgate didn't care.

The securing them was easy enough, for on that particular evening Arthur and Dig were roosting on the big arch of Wellham Abbey, in no condition to interfere if all their worldly goods had been ransacked. The remainder the reader knows.

That eventful evening was to witness one more solemnity before the order for "lights out" cut short its brief career.

Arthur and Dig having returned to their study, held a grave consultation over the sack and match-box and wedge of paper.

"We'd better hide them," said Dig, "where he can't find them again."

"Not safe," said Arthur; "we'd better burn them."

"Burn them!" said Dig, astounded by the audacious proposition. "Then we give up all our evidence."

"Good job too; all the better for Marky. They've done us no good so far."

This was true, and Dig, having turned the matter over, said he was "game."

The conspirators therefore locked their door, and piled up their fire.

It was long since their study had glowed with such a cheerful blaze.

The resin-wheel flared, and crackled, and spat as if it was in the jest and was enjoying it, and the flames blazed up the chimney as though they were racing who should be the first to carry the joke outside.

The match-box and paper wedge vanished almost instantaneously, and the old bone-dry sack itself rose grandly to the occasion, and flared away merrily inch by inch, until, a quarter of an hour after the illumination had begun, the last glowing vestige of it had skipped up after the sparks.

The boys were sitting complacently contemplating this glorious _finale_ when a loud knock came at the door, and a shout in Ainger's voice of "Let me in!"

"What's the row?" cried Arthur, shovelling the ashes under the grate, while Dig, with wonderful presence of mind, whipped out the toasting- fork, and stuck half a loaf on the end of it.

"Open the door," cried Ainger, accompanying his demand with a kick which made the timbers creak. "Your chimney's on fire!"

Arthur rushed and opened the door, while Dig, once more with wonderful presence of mind, seized up the bath bucket and emptied it on the fire.

"You young idiots," shouted Ainger as he rushed in, half-blinded with the smoke raised by Dig's _coup de theatre_, "you'll have the house on fire! Bring a jug with you, both of you, up to the roof."

They each s.n.a.t.c.hed up a jug, and with pale countenances followed the captain up to the skylight. As they emerged on to the roof they were horrified to see the chimney belching forth sparks and smoke with unmistakable fierceness.

Fortunately the roof was flat and the chimney-pot accessible. The contents of the three jugs rapidly damped the ardour of the rising flames, and in five minutes after Ainger's first knock at the door the danger was all over.

"Luckily I happened to see it from Smedley's room opposite," said the captain. "Whatever had you been cooking for supper?" They laughed. It was evident the captain was not going to visit the misadventure severely on their heads.

"Something good," said Arthur. "But I guess it'll be a little overdone now. Thanks awfully, Ainger, for helping us out. We might have got into a jolly row if it hadn't been for you, mightn't we, Dig?"

And they departed peacefully to bed, leaving Ainger to wonder what was the use of being the captain of a house when your main occupation is to put out fires kindled by the juniors, and be patted on the back by them in return!