It did not occur to Sheen immediately that his boat had actually gone.

　　The full beauty of the situation was some moments in coming home tohim. At first he merely thought that somebody had moved it to anotherpart of the bank, as the authorities at the inn had done once or twicein the past, to make room for the boats of fresh visitors. Walkingalong the lawn in search of it, he came upon the stake to whichDunstable's submerged craft was attached. He gave the rope a tentativepull, and was surprised to find that there was a heavy drag on the endof it.

　　Then suddenly the truth flashed across him. "Heavens!" he cried, "it'ssunk."Joe Bevan and other allies lent their aid to the pulling. The lost boatcame out of the river like some huge fish, and finally rested on thebank, oozing water and drenching the grass in all directions.

　　Joe Bevan stooped down, and examined it in the dim light.

　　"What's happened here, sir," he said, "is that there's a plank gonefrom the bottom. Smashed clean out, it is. Not started it isn't.

　　Smashed clean out. That's what it is. Some one must have been here anddone it."Sheen looked at the boat, and saw that he was right. A plank in themiddle had been splintered. It looked as if somebody had driven someheavy instrument into it. As a matter of fact, Albert had effected thejob with the butt-end of an oar.

　　The damage was not ruinous. A carpenter could put the thing right at nogreat expense. But it would take time. And meanwhile the minutes wereflying, and lock-up was now little more than half an hour away.

　　"What'll you do, sir?" asked Bevan.

　　That was just what Sheen was asking himself. What could he do? The roadto the school twisted and turned to such an extent that, though thedistance from the "Blue Boar" to Seymour's was only a couple of milesas the crow flies, he would have to cover double that distance unlesshe took a short cut across the fields. And if he took a short cut inthe dark he was certain to lose himself. It was a choice of evils. The"Blue Boar" possessed but one horse and trap, and he had seen thatdriven away to the station in charge of a fisherman's luggage half anhour before.

　　"I shall have to walk," he said.

　　"It's a long way. You'll be late, won't you?" said Mr Bevan.

　　"It can't be helped. I suppose I shall. I wonder who smashed thatboat," he added after a pause.

　　Passing through the inn on his way to the road, he made inquiries. Itappeared that two young gentlemen from the school had been there totea. They had arrived in a boat and gone away in a boat. Nobody elsehad come into the inn. Suspicion obviously rested upon them.

　　"Do you remember anything about them?" asked Sheen.

　　Further details came out. One of the pair had worn a cap like Sheen's.

　　The other's headgear, minutely described, showed him that its owner wasa member of the school second eleven.

　　Sheen pursued the inquiry. He would be so late in any case that aminute or so more or less would make no material difference; and he wasvery anxious to find out, if possible, who it was that had placed himin this difficulty. He knew that he was unpopular in the school, but hehad not looked for this sort of thing.

　　Then somebody suddenly remembered having heard one of the pair addressthe other by name.

　　"What name?" asked Sheen.

　　His informant was not sure. Would it be Lindon?

　　"Linton," said Sheen.

　　That was it.

　　Sheen thanked him and departed, still puzzled. Linton, as he knew him,was not the sort of fellow to do a thing like that. And the other, thesecond eleven man, must be Dunstable. They were always about together.

　　He did not know much about Dunstable, but he could hardly believe thatthis sort of thing was his form either. Well, he would have to think ofthat later. He must concentrate himself now on covering the distance tothe school in the minimum of time. He looked at his watch. Twentyminutes more. If he hurried, he might not be so very late. He wishedthat somebody would come by in a cart, and give him a lift.

　　He stopped and listened. No sound of horse's hoof broke the silence. Hewalked on again.

　　Then, faint at first, but growing stronger every instant, there camefrom some point in the road far behind him a steady droning sound. Healmost shouted with joy. A motor! Even now he might do it.

　　But could he stop it? Would the motorist pay any attention to him, orwould he flash past and leave him in the dust? From the rate at whichthe drone increased the car seemed to be travelling at a rare speed.

　　He moved to one side of the road, and waited. He could see the lightsnow, flying towards him.

　　Then, as the car hummed past, he recognised its driver, and put all heknew into a shout.

　　"Bruce!" he cried.

　　For a moment it seemed as if he had not been heard. The driver paid notthe smallest attention, as far as he could see. He looked neither tothe left nor to right. Then the car slowed down, and, backing, cameslowly to where he stood.

　　"Hullo," said the driver, "who's that?"Jack Bruce was alone in the car, muffled to the eyes in an overcoat.

　　It was more by his general appearance than his face that Sheen hadrecognised him.

　　"It's me, Sheen. I say, Bruce, I wish you'd give me a lift toSeymour's, will you?"There was never any waste of words about Jack Bruce. Of all the sixhundred and thirty-four boys at Wrykyn he was probably the only onewhose next remark in such circumstances would not have been a question.

　　Bruce seldom asked questions--never, if they wasted time.

　　"Hop in," he said.

　　Sheen consulted his watch again.

　　"Lock-up's in a quarter of an hour," he said, &q............