Wren did not quite know what to make of this. Why had not Fenn said aword to him? There were one or two prefects in the school whom hemight have met even at such close quarters and yet have cherished ahope that they had not seen him. Once he had run right into Drew, ofthe School House, and escaped unrecognised. But with Fenn it wasdifferent. Compared to Fenn, lynxes were astigmatic. He must havespotted him.

　　There was a vein of philosophy in Wren's composition. He felt that hemight just as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. In other words,having been caught down town without leave, he might as well staythere and enjoy himself a little while longer before going back to beexecuted. So he strolled off down the High Street, bought a few thingsat a stationer's, and wound up with an excellent tea at theconfectioner's by the post-office.

　　It was as he was going to this meal that Kennedy caught sight of him.

　　Kennedy had come down town to visit the local photographer, to whom hehad entrusted a fortnight before the pleasant task of taking hisphotograph. As he had heard nothing from him since, he was now comingto investigate. He entered the High Street as Wren was turning intothe confectioner's, saw him, and made a note of it for futurereference.

　　When Wren returned to the house just before lock-up, he sought counselof Walton.

　　"I say," he said, as he handed over the honey he had saved so neatlyfrom destruction, "what would you do? Just as I was coming out of theshop, I barged into Fenn. He must have twigged me.""Didn't he say anything?""Not a word. I couldn't make it out, because he must have seen me. Weweren't a yard away from one another.""It's dark in the shop," suggested Walton.

　　"Not at the door; which is where we met."Before Walton could find anything to say in reply to this, theirconversation was interrupted by Spencer.

　　"Kennedy wants you, Wren," said Spencer. "You'd better buck up; he'sin an awful wax."Next to Walton, the vindictive Spencer objected most to Wren, and hedid not attempt to conceal the pleasure he felt in being the bearer ofthis ominous summons.

　　The group broke up. Wren went disconsolately upstairs to Kennedy'sstudy; Walton smacked Spencer's head--more as a matter of form thanbecause he had done anything special to annoy him--and retired to thesenior dayroom; while Spencer, muttering darkly to himself, avoided asecond smack and took cover in the junior room, where he consoledhimself by toasting a piece of india-rubber in the gas till it madethe atmosphere painful to breathe in, and recalling with pleasure thecondition Walton's face had been in for the day or two following hisencounter with Kennedy in the dormitory.

　　Kennedy was working when Wren knocked at his door.

　　He had not much time to spare on a bounds-breaking fag; and his mannerwas curt.

　　"I saw you going into Rose's, in the High Street, this afternoon,Wren," he said, looking up from his Greek prose. "I didn't give youleave. Come up here after prayers tonight. Shut the door."Wren went down to consult Walton again. His attitude with regard to alicking from the head of the house was much like that of the otherfags. Custom had, to a certain extent, inured him to these painfulinterviews, but still, if it was possible, he preferred to keep out ofthem. Under Fenn's rule he had often found a tolerably thin excuseserve his need. Fenn had so many other things to do that he was notunwilling to forego an occasional licking, if the excuse was goodenough. And he never took the trouble to find out whether theingenious stories Wren was wont to serve up to him were true or not.

　　Kennedy, Wren reflected uncomfortably, had given signs that thiseasy-going method would not do for him. Still, it mi............