kneeling down flipped the skirting-board sharply with his nail, and bent low his head.
Faintly out of the darkness came two answering taps.
"That's Nicols up there," he explained. "He's shadowing them."
Thence they quietly made their way to the door of Faversham's dormitory—now temporarily converted into a banqueting hall. The guests were beginning to arrive in guilty-looking twos and threes, and from within there sounded a clatter of plates and other busy preparations. Outside the door stood the door-keeper—the sturdy sergeant of the corps.
With him Fawcett softly conversed for a few moments, and at length. borrowed a chair. Bearing this article of furniture between them, Clifford and his leader took their departure farther along the passage to a point where, fixed high upon the wall, was a powerful electric
He flipped the skirting board sharply with his nail
bell which communicated with, and was set in motion by, a press button in Mr. Purcell's own study. Standing upon the chair, Fawcett quietly unscrewed and removed the gong on which the hammer sounded. Then he returned the chair to the dormitory he had borrowed it from.
"Now," he whispered, "we are ready. Come on," and followed by Clifford descended the big dark staircase which led to the silent, deserted class-rooms.
"Nicols is shadowing Tupper, and Allen is billowing Mr. Schofield. We watch the great Pussy himself," volunteered the guide. "Tupper dare not try an attack himself," he continued. "He would be recognized by all the big fellows, and fairly slain tomorrow. What they will do, I am sure, is to try and rouse cither Mr. Schofield or Old Pussy to make a raid. We must be careful."
The staircase was of stone, and felt cold to their unshod feet. Only by following the banisters could they proceed through the intense darkness. Another turn, however, brought them to a broad flagged hall, faintly lighted by an oil lamp. But from beneath a door upon the left bright streaks of light shone steadily upon the floor. This was Pussy's study.
"He's in there, so be careful," murmured Fawcett, and beckoned his companion along the hall to a door beneath the flight of stairs they had just descended.
The upper panels of the door were glazed, but whitewashed from within to render them opaque. Clifford knew it at once as the housekeeper's storeroom. From his pocket Fawcett produced a key which he fitted into the lock.
"This is one of our sentry-boxes," he whispered; "in you go!"
A spacious cupboard lined with shelves of tins and jam-pots was revealed.
"What a lot of grub!" Clifford could not help remarking softly.
His guide reproved him.
"The Scouts are not thieves," he remarked sententiously. "Now let me point out the strategical importance of this position. Firstly, you see this bolt. I put it on myself. We can fasten ourselves in—so! Secondly, through that little bit of pane where the whitewash has been scratched away, we can watch Pussy's door; and lastly, you can see those two white strings running up that corner? Those are the wires connecting the push in Pussy's study and the electric bell upstairs, which I manipulated just now. Observe that here the isolating covering of non-conducting grease and cotton has been stripped off the two wires, thus exposing the copper strands. Press the two wires together in that place—no, don't do it now, whatever you do! However, if you did the bell upstairs would ring just the same as if you pressed the push in Pussy's study, for the circuit is thus completed by the junction of the two wires, and the current would run. If Pussy leaves his study to go upstairs, I should press them. As there is no bell, the hammer would merely vibrate by itself, with only enough noise to attract the attention of the doorkeeper on the watch. I ring three times for an ordinary warning, but only once if very urgent."
"But we meanwhile—?" questioned Clifford.
"Would remain here!"
"But our empty beds?"
"My dear fellow," replied Fawcett, "if you were to see your bed now you would find it occupied by a pile of things with the bed-clothes tastefully arranged over them, and a dark object on the pillow half covered with the sheet. Allen makes it his specialty. It’s not an infallible trick, of course, but quite sparky enough to pass in a scrum."
"Wonderful!" admitted Clifford, but his admiration was cut short by his leader. "Don't talk," he ordered. "Listen."
How long it was that they watched Clifford did not know. But still no sounds came from the study, nor did the gleams of light die away under the door. At length, however, a noise reached them, faintly, as if from upstairs. It sounded like a shuffle far up in the dormitory corridors.
"What is that?" whispered Fawcett, and they both listened.
There was no further sound in the dark, silent house, however.
"I must go and see what it is,” said Fawcett, at length. "It may be old Schofield on the
