The Hero of Garside School Page 5

  CHAPTER IV

  SHADOWS OF THE EVENING

  But too true--the letter had gone. No wonder Paul was bewildered,stupefied. He had risked so much to get that letter to itsdestination--had braved more than one peril, and come safelythrough--that it seemed heart-breaking to find the letter gone.

  "Have you searched all your pockets?" asked Wyndham.

  "All," answered Paul. "It was in this one--here"--he placed his handupon his breast-pocket. "I put it here when it was given me, and Ihaven't shifted it."

  "Where, then, can it have gone?"

  Where? Paul knew well enough that it was in his possession when he leftpoor Falcon by the roadside, for he had felt in his pocket, and found itthere. He must, therefore, have lost it since; but where--where? Thatwas the question he kept repeating to himself without finding an answer.Of a sudden it came to him. It must have been jerked from his pocket atthe moment Wyndham caught the handle of the windlass, nearlyprecipitating him from the bucket to the water.

  "I believe it's in the well."

  "What?" cried Wyndham. "In the well? How can that be?"

  Paul explained.

  "You must be right," said Wyndham thoughtfully, when the explanation wasended. "Well, there's one consolation--it's better for the letter to bein the well than you. It's a pity, but it can't be helped. What will youdo?"

  Paul had been thinking. He could go forward to Mr. Moncrief at Redmead,and explain to him that he had lost the letter, or he could go back, andexplain to the other Mr. Moncrief that he had failed in his embassy.Neither alternative was very palatable to him. Duty was before him as apole-star. A still small voice was ever whispering to him, "Paul, thyduty. Do that in spite of anything that may happen to you. Place thatfirst and foremost, even before self." What, then, was his duty? Toconfess to failure and defeat? No, never! That was the coward's part. Hewould not rest satisfied until he had made an effort to recover theletter he had lost, and he told Wyndham so.

  "I like your pluck; 'pon my word I do. Didn't think a Gargoyle had somuch--really I didn't," said Wyndham; "but it's no use being foolhardy.If the letter's at the bottom of the well, how, in the name of wonder,are you going to get it up again?"

  "I don't believe it's at the bottom. The water was pretty thick, I'mcertain, by the odour. There would be vegetable stuff, and that sort ofthing floating on the top of it. Well, if that's so, the letter wouldn'tsink. The gravity of the water would be greater than the weight of theletter."

  "Oh, the Gargoyles do go in a bit for physics--eh?" smiled Wyndham."Fire away. I believe you're right. What's the next step?"

  "The next step is to go down the well again, and prove whether I'm rightor wrong. Is it asking too much of you to go back with me?"

  "You mean going down the well again?"

  "If you'll oblige me by again turning the handle."

  Wyndham was by this time thoroughly interested in Paul and his mission,and he couldn't help admiring still further his pluck and determination.He never imagined that a despised "Gargoyle" had so much of thosequalities. He willingly fell in with Paul's suggestion, and soon theywere back again at the well.

  "I've forgotten one thing," said Paul. "I haven't a light."

  "Luckily I can lend you one. Wait here for a moment."

  Paul waited while Wyndham disappeared among the ruins. Presently hereturned with a lantern, which he lighted and handed to Paul. Thusequipped, he once more took his position in the bucket.

  "Pay out slowly, and I'll tell you when to stop."

  The bucket slowly descended till Paul was within a foot or two of thewater.

  "Stop!" he shouted.

  The bucket stopped, then Paul leaned over the side, and flashed thelight of the lantern on the water. There, to his great joy, was themissing letter, floating on the weeds. He cautiously leaned forward, andgrasping the letter, returned it once more in safety to his pocket.

  "Haul away!" he cried.

  And Wyndham hauled away, so that a minute later Paul was again at thebrink of the well.

  "Found it?" asked Wyndham eagerly.

  For answer Paul produced the letter. It was slightly damp, but littlethe worse otherwise for its immersion.

  "Well, you deserve it. I'm jolly glad you've found it."

  "I should never have got it hadn't it been for you. It was very good ofyou to turn back with me, and I hope if at any time I can do you aservice, you'll let me know."

  The two boys tramped on once more to their destination. Wyndham wishedPaul good-night at the entrance to Redmead, his home lying in anotherdirection. It was not long before Paul came in sight of Oakville. It wasa fine old country house. A light was shining from its gabled front. Byits light Paul could see that there was a man hovering about the house.He could not get a clear glimpse of him, but he was certain, from theman's figure and gait, that it was Brockman, the confederate of Zuker,the German spy. Knowing that Paul must come to the house, he hadevidently been on the watch for him.

  Now that he had come so far, Paul did not intend being foiled at thelast moment. He saw that it was useless trying to enter by the front ofthe house, so he crept round to the back.

  A light was coming from one of the windows. Paul made for this window,and looked through. He was scarcely prepared for what he saw. It wasevidently a play-room. There was a large rocking-horse in one corner. Atrapeze was slung up in the centre. There were single-sticks and foilson the wall, dumb-bells, Indian-clubs, a parallel-bar, and avaulting-horse stowed away in another part of the room. But it was notso much these things which attracted the attention of Paul as theoccupants of the room. A middle-aged gentleman was kneeling. He waspraying aloud. Near him was a lady. On either side of her was a girl andboy--the boy about twelve, the girl a couple of years older. In linewith them were a couple of maidservants and a governess. Paul could seethat they were at family prayers. He guessed that the gentleman who waspraying was Mr. Walter Moncrief, the gentleman he had come in search ofby his likeness to his brother.

  When they had finished prayers, the lady went to the piano, and thelittle group joined heartily in a hymn Paul had often heard at school:

  "Now the day is over, Night is drawing nigh, Shadows of the ev'ning Steal across the sky."

  Paul listened reverently, with bowed head. How appropriate the wordsseemed to be. In very truth had the shadows been stealing across the skythat evening, and they had not yet dispersed. Brockman, the man without,was still hovering darkly, like a cloud, over that house. Again thesingers within raised their voices:

  "Through the long night-watches, May Thine angels spread Their white wings above us, Watching round each bed."

  Paul echoed those words very earnestly in his heart as his hand claspedtightly the letter for which he had risked so much. The room was anaddition to the house, and led by a separate door into the garden. Whenthe singing had ended, Paul stepped softly to the door and knockedgently on it with his knuckles. It was opened by one of the servants.The light of the lamp fell upon Paul as the door opened, and the eyes ofall in the room turned to him as he stood there, with the letter in hishand.

  "Can I see Mr. Moncrief?"

  "I am Mr. Moncrief. What is it you want with me, my lad?" said thatgentleman stepping forward.

  "'I AM MR. MONCRIEF,' SAID THAT GENTLEMAN, STEPPINGFORWARD."]

  "I've brought a letter from your brother, Mr. Henry Moncrief. Hecouldn't bring it himself, because of an accident----"

  "An accident?"

  "Nothing very serious, sir. A sprain, I think. He asked me to take theletter for him, and as he's the father of a school chum of mine, StanMoncrief; I brought it along, and here it is," Paul explained rapidly,as he handed Mr. Moncrief the letter.

  Paul had by this time entered the room. Directly Mr. Moncrief glanced atthe letter his face became very grave. He went from the room, and hiswife followed him, evidently as anxious as himself to know the contents.The servants retired, and Paul was thus left alone with the boy andgirl.

/>   There was not the least shyness about the former, for directly hisparents left the room, he came forward and introduced himself.

  "I'm Harry Moncrief--named after the uncle you brought that letter from.He was my godfather, you know. This is my sister, Connie." Connie, whowas a pretty, fair girl, looked embarrassed at her brother's bluntmethod of introduction, but he rattled on. "Rather good for a girl. Notso slow as most of them. Can take a turn with the bells or clubs"--bybells and clubs was meant dumb-bells and Indian-clubs--"and she canscout at cricket. Didn't I hear you say you were a chum of cousinStanley's?"

  "Yes; we're in the same Form."

  "What--at Garside School?" asked the boy eagerly.

  Paul nodded.

  "Hurrah!--hurrah!" cried Harry. "I'm going to Garside next term. I'veleft Gaffer Quelch's, thank goodness!"--Gaffer Quelch's was a collegefor juvenile scholars in the neighbourhood--"and I'm going to see lifeat Garside."

  Paul could not help smiling at the boy's idea of "seeing life," and thehigh and exalted notion he seemed to have of Garside.

  "Do you know young Plunger? He used to be my chum at Quelch's, but heleft there a term ago, and went to Garside. That's another reason I'mgoing there. Things are awfully slow at Quelch's since Plunger left He'sa big pot at Garside, isn't he?"

  "Very," answered Paul drily.

  Paul knew young Plunger well enough. He was in one of the junior Forms.Though he had been at Garside only a term, he had almost succeeded increating a record for the number of scrapes into which he had got duringthat short period.

  "Cousin Stan being so high up in the school, I don't want to let himdown, you know, by making any mistakes when I get to Garside," Harryrattled on. "I want to do things in correct form, you see; for if I letmyself down, I let Stan down. So I asked Plunger the right thing to doon going to Garside. Plunger's an awfully good sort of fellow, so hetook the trouble to write down for me what ought to be done; but Iwasn't to show it to any one here, for some of the things are schoolsecrets, he tells me."

  Connie had discreetly withdrawn from the room, leaving Paul and herbrother together. The latter, however, glanced round to make sure theywere quite alone before he drew from his pocket the mysterious documentwhich Plunger had written for his instruction on entering GarsideSchool.

  "1. Trousers to be turned up at bottom three inches.

  "2. Spats on boots (patents).

  "3. White waistcoat. Eton jacket.

  "4. Introduce yourself to Bax, the porter, by giving him two slaps onthe back and a dig with right-hand forefinger in ribs. Give himfollowing particulars: Age and weight. Whether vaccinated--show marks.Give also measurement of biceps and chest.

  "5. On seeing Mrs. Trounce (matron) go down on right knee, and presenther with your portrait (for school album). Write on bottom of card, inclear handwriting, 'With love and kind regards.'

  "6. Two shillings to be left at Billiter's for 'footing,' etc."

  Paul could scarcely refrain from smiling at the code of rules which theaudacious Plunger had drawn up for his chum's instruction, the more soas Harry, who had never been to a public school, seemed to take them inall seriousness.

  "You've been through it all, of course?" said Harry, as Paul handed therules back to him. "Kind of Plunger to take so much trouble, isn't it?"

  Paul was on the point of answering as Mr. Moncrief entered the room.

  Harry hastily thrust the paper out of sight.