THE MYSTIC ORDER OF BEETLES
To the bewilderment of Plunger and Moncrief minor they found themselves in the grip of four figures, with masks somewhat after the fashion of those worn by motorists. They had been taken so completely by surprise that they made no attempt at resistance. If they had it would have been useless, for their captors held them firmly by both arms, and rushed them breathlessly across the field as far as possible from the roadway.
"St—stop it, will you?" Plunger at length found breath enough to stammer. "Oh—oh!"
The last exclamation was caused by a sharp dig in the ribs, which brought his question to an abrupt conclusion. Inspired by Plunger's example, Harry thought that he might also venture on a question.
"Who—who are you? And—and—where are you taking us?"
An answer was conveyed to him in the same forcible manner in which it had been conveyed to Plunger; but, though the dig in the ribs made him gasp, it did not altogether silence him.
"Crawlers—wretched Beetles—that's what you are! Oh, oh, oh!"
A dig in the ribs from both sides effectually closed Harry's lips for the time being, while the pace at which his captors took him along was increased to such a rate that he could scarcely keep his feet. At length they stopped before a barn, and the foremost of the four captors knocked upon the door three times with his knuckles.
"Who's there?" came a voice from within.
"Four of the Brethren," answered the youth who had knocked.
"Are you alone?"
"No; we have brought two novices who are anxious to be introduced to the mystic order."
Plunger began to prick up his ears. The mystic order? What mystic order? And what were they going to do with them?
"Two novices who are anxious to be introduced to the mystic order?" came the voice from within. "They wish to become brethren?"
"Yes."
"N—n—no!" came in a gasp from Plunger's lips; but another sharp dig in his ribs reduced him once more to silence.
"Yes, most worthy K. O. P. They are dying to become brethren of the noble band."
"I say, you unkind Beetles," began Harry. "Oh, oh!"
He was silenced by the same unfailing method which had just been brought to bear upon his companion.
A short conversation took place between the masked figure who had acted as spokesman and the person within. At the end of it the former turned to his companions.
"Blindfold the novices. The Keeper of the Portal has commanded it."
Keeper of the Portal? That, then, was the meaning of the initials "K. O. P." thought Plunger.
It was getting more and more mysterious, but he did not like the idea of being blindfolded. What were they going to do with him—with Moncrief? At first he felt inclined to resist, but a sharp twist of the wrist soon convinced him that resistance was useless. Harry had come to the same conclusion, so they submitted with the best grace they could to bandages being placed round their eyes. Then they heard the door open and the voice of the "Keeper of the Portal" commanding them to enter.
They entered. As they did so, Plunger thought he heard some one sniggering, and again a wild idea crossed his mind that he would strike out and make a desperate effort to escape from his captors; but the instant he moved he was brought to a standstill by the energetic measures which were now becoming painfully familiar to him.
The sniggering, if sniggering it was, soon ceased, and then a strange silence reigned in the barn. The silence was a great deal worse to Plunger than any amount of ridicule. Who were in the barn? What was happening?
He strained his ears to the utmost. He could hear the sound of mysterious footsteps walking stealthily to and fro, but no one spoke. He stood there and shivered, though the perspiration was oozing from his forehead. Was some desperate plot on foot against them? The footsteps ceased. All was again so still that he began to think the barn had been deserted and that he had been left in it blindfolded, to make his way from it the best he could. He was about to call out to Harry when a voice he had not yet heard called out sharply:
"Gargoyle with the eyebrows, what is thy name?"
Gargoyle with the eyebrows!
"S'pose that's meant for me," thought Plunger, "but I'm not going to answer such impudent questions."
"The noble president speaketh. Answer, Gargoyle with the wiry thatch," came a voice in Plunger's ear, accompanied by a sharp kick on the shins.
Gargoyle with the eyebrows! Gargoyle with the wiry thatch! Was there ever such insolence? But that kick on the shins told Plunger that to raise any protest would only bring upon him worse punishment, so he stammered out:
"Fre—Frederick Pl—Plunger."
"Plunger! Thy name is worse than thy face."
Plunger heard sniggers on every side at this reference to his name, of which he had always been very proud.
"It's such an uncommon one, you know," he had often said to his cronies at Garside. And now the wretched crew into whose hands he had fallen were trying to make fun of it. He bubbled over with indignation, but simmered down on hearing similar questions put to his companion in misfortune.
He was aroused from these reflections by hearing the chief of the band exclaim, in tones of command:
"Make fast the portal!"
He heard the sound as of a rusty bolt being thrust into its socket.
"I say, you chaps," he protested, beginning to feel alarmed again as he heard this ominous sound, "I wish you'd stop your larks and take this wretched thing from my eyes. If you'll just oblige me, I won't give you away—I really won't."
"We're going to take the bandage from thy eyes, but first thou must promise, on the banner of our Noble Order, to become a comrade and a brother."
"I—I promise," stammered Plunger, anxious only to get the use of his eyes again.
"Thou must promise also, by the same sacred emblem, never to reveal what thou dost see."
"I—I promise."
The same questions were put to Harry, who was just as anxious as his companion to see what was going on, and thought that no possible harm could be done in following Plunger's lead. So he gave the same promises.
The bandages, however, were not immediately removed. The two boys could hear the sound of footsteps moving round them, and voices chanting in some unknown tongue what seemed to be a mysterious incantation.
"Remove the bandages," commanded the chief, when this curious incantation, of which the two prisoners could make nothing, had ended.
At this command the bandages were removed. The scene that presented itself to the astonished eyes of Plunger and Harry was one of the most extraordinary they had ever witnessed. Their four captors seemed to have disappeared. Standing around them in a circle were what appeared to be eleven beetles standing erect on two legs, instead of crawling about on four. On the breast of each was a letter, which, being white, stood out prominently from the dark background, and gave to this singular circle a still more singular appearance. The letters made up the following:
M. O. OF BEETLES.
in other words—The Mystic Order of Beetles.
Plunger rubbed his eyes. Was he awake or sleeping? He was wide enough awake, but he could not at once grasp the situation. What did it all mean?
The reader has doubtless made a better guess at what had happened than Plunger. It was in this way. Mellor and Crick, the two boys who had gained possession of the Garside flag, had found a good deal of amusement at first in making surreptitious visits to the barn, and dancing round their capture, but they soon began to long for something more exciting. Truth to tell, the capture had not made the sensation in the ranks of the enemy they had anticipated—so at least it seemed to them. They had expected early reprisals, but none had come. So, after they had performed a war-dance round the flag with their companions five or six times, Mellor yearned for something more exciting. So did Crick. So did the others.
"The Gargoyles don't seem to worry much about the flag after all," said Mellor, thoughtfully wiping his brow, after the last of these spirited exercises round the Garside standard.
"Not a bit. Seems to me they're only too glad to get rid of the wretched thing," remarked Finch, one of the boys who had been envious of the daring capture.
"Are they? That's all you know, Finch," retorted Mellor, angry that his remark should be taken so literally. "If we could only see them, we should find them tearing their hair and gnashing their teeth."
"Then why don't they come after their property and try to get it back again?"
"Because they don't know for certain who's got it. They're lying low."
"Well, we'd better do the same. I can't see much fun in hopping round the wretched rag. Why the Gargoyles should make so much of it I can't make out."
"That's because you've never been at Garside. I dare say if we'd been left a flag like that by an old school-fellow who had made a name for himself, we should have been as proud of it as they are. It was worth getting just to set those bounders back a bit. I should like to see you do what Crick did, Finch!"
There were murmurs of approval at this, and Finch subsided into silence. Nevertheless, when Mellor began to reflect, there seemed to be a good deal of force in Finch's observation. There wasn't much fun, after all, in hopping round "the wretched rag." So he thought of a way to improve matters. Once or twice the idea had occurred to him of establishing a society calling itself the "Mystic Order of Beetles," and using it for the benefit of the rivals who had bestowed upon them so contemptuous a title.
Directly he mentioned it to his companions it was hailed with enthusiasm.
What could be better than making some of those wretched Gargoyles eat humble pie under the very flag they were so proud of? So amongst them they designed an appropriate costume for the "Mystic Order of Beetles," and the meeting-place and dressing-room were arranged in the barn.
So the society was started. Having started it, the next thing was to capture some of the enemy. In order to accomplish this interesting purpose, a band of scouts was established for the purpose of reporting on the movements of the enemy at the first favourable opportunity. It so happened that this was on the very day that Paul went to Wyndham to make inquiries about the flag.
The scouts were rather disappointed when they found, from their post of observation on the other side of the hedge, that the boy making his way to St. Bede's was Percival. There had been already one trial of strength with him which had not been entirely successful. Besides which Wyndham had championed his cause, and they were bound to respect Wyndham's opinion. Furthermore, the fame of Paul's heroism had reached St. Bede's, as the reader has seen, and they had lost their former contempt for him. They were therefore on the point of turning disconsolately away when their eyes were gladdened by the sight of Plunger and Harry following Paul.
Here were the prizes they had longed for. The enemy was delivered into their hands.
So the scouts had carried off their prisoners to the barn, where their comrades were waiting them. What followed we have seen.
Plunger and Harry looked on the extraordinary circle which surrounded them in wonder. No word fell from the Beetles. They stood perfectly still, as though enjoying the surprise which their extraordinary appearance had created in the breast of their prisoners.
"I say, you are a rum lot!" Plunger at length burst out. "Mystic Order of Beetles! Ha, ha!"
He burst into a wild fit of laughter, but his laughter was suddenly checked by a resounding thud upon the shoulders. He then discovered that the Beetles standing around him were armed with sheepskin bladders attached to sticks. They did not hurt much, but the noise they made was considerable.
"Silence! Thy mirth is unseemly," came from the chief of the circle, who was no other than Mellor. "Remember, that thou hast been admitted to the Mystic Order of Beetles, and hast promised by the sacred emblem above thee to be true to the cause."
The sacred emblem above! The prisoners looked up. There was a flag hanging from the roof of the barn—a tattered flag. Plunger rubbed his eyes. Surely it was the old flag—the flag of Garside?
"Why—why—that's—that's——"
"Silence!"
The bladders came down in a perfect shower on Plunger's head and shoulders. As for Harry, he could not speak. The sight of the flag had smitten him dumb.
"Thou hast promised to be true to the cause," repeated the chief solemnly. "Should'st thou ever dare to break the vow, thou wilt be haunted for the rest of thy life—haunted sleeping and waking by the Beetles thou hast betrayed! Describe the mystic circle."
Describe the mystic circle! What in the name of wonder was that? The bladders descended upon Plunger as he stood in the centre of the ring with his companion, wondering what was expected of him.
"I—I don't know any mystic circles," he stammered in despair.
"On hands and knees—quick!"
Plunger hastened to obey the command.
"Crawl round the mystic circle three times."
Plunger would have refused had he dared, but he dared not; so, amid a good deal of suppressed laughter from the Beetles standing round him, he crawled round the circle three times.
"Rise, brother!" commanded Mellor, when he had accomplished this feat.
Plunger gladly sprang to his feet.
"Give him the mystic tap."
Thwack—thwack came the bladders on Plunger's devoted head. And Plunger almost regretted that he had risen. Harry went bravely through the same ordeal. This accomplished, the Beetles joined hands, and galloping wildly around the two boys, chanted:
"Beetles of the mystic band,
Wind we round thee, hand in hand;
Whene'er thou hear'st thy chieftain's call
Rest not, pause not, hither crawl;
Or to the realms of creepy-crawley,
Shivery-shaky, we will haul thee!"
As this incantation went on, Plunger and Harry had a lively time inside the mystic circle. By the dexterous application of a knee or a shoulder, Plunger would be sent with a run in one direction, while Harry would be sent flying in another. They were whirled about from this side to that like indiarubber balls. Then of a sudden they would find themselves closely embracing each other in the centre of the ring, only to be sundered again, and sent flying in another direction.
At length the "Brethren of the Mystic Order" stopped breathless, much to the relief of Plunger and Harry.
"Keeper of the Portal conduct our newly-made brothers to the door."
The Keeper of the Portal, Crick, conducted them to the door.
"The time has come to say farewell—for the present," said Mellor, as they all gathered round the door. "Don't forget that thou art pledged to us by the bonds of our noble order. In token whereof, give them the mystic wallop."
The bladders came down with a resounding thwack on the newly-made brethren, during which the Keeper of the Portal opened the door. Plunger and Harry darted through. Roars of laughter followed them, but they did not look back. They did not pause till they were well on the road to Garside.
"I say, Moncrief minor," said Plunger, drawing up breathless, "we've dropped in for a fine thing."
The same idea had occurred to Harry, but he was not so ready to admit it.
"How do you mean?"
"Why, we've joined hands with the enemy—the Beetles. There's no getting out of it."
"I suppose there isn't," answered Harry gloomily.
They walked on in silence for a few moments. Then Harry glanced round, as though half fearful that some one was following, and whispered:
"I say, Plunger."
"Well, what is it?"
"Did you notice the flag we were standing under?"
"The flag we were standing under?" repeated Plunger innocently. "Well, not particularly. What was it like?"
"Like! I believe it was the school flag!"
"You don't say so. Never!"
"I'm positive it was."
"The school flag? This is awful! Couldn't you have let me know? What a duffer you are! I would have sacrificed my life to get that flag! I wouldn't have stood their nonsense like I did had I thought that was our flag. I would have fought them till my last breath. Why—why didn't you let me know?"
"I thought you did know."
"And to think that I crawled to them—crawled, with the flag of the old school looking on. It's nothing to you—you're only a fresher from Gaffer Quelch's; but to me, Plunger, it's—it's——" Not being able to find a word strong enough to express his meaning, Plunger suddenly turned on Harry again. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Moncrief minor, letting me make such an ass of myself."
"How could I help it, Freddy. They made an ass of me too."
"There you go again, always poking your wretched self in. What does it matter to you? You don't count at Garside. I do—that's the difference. I wish you wouldn't look at these things from such a selfish point of view. You're always thinking of yourself—a miserable fresher, as I've said, from Gaffer Quelch's. If it ever gets about the school that I've been made a Beetle under the Garside flag, what will the fellows think of it? I shall never hear the last of it. I shall be roasted all round."
"And serve you right, too!" cried Harry, losing his temper. "A jolly good roasting will do you good. It'll take some of the bounce out of you. If it hadn't been for you, we shouldn't have got into this mess."
"What do you mean?" demanded Plunger hotly.
"It was all through playing the spy on Percival. If it hadn't been for following him, those Beetles wouldn't have got hold of us."
"Come, that's good. Your cheek's superb. That's the only thing you seem to have brought with you from Gaffer Quelch's. Who was it suggested we should follow Percival? Was it me, I should like to know, or one of the little prigs from Gaffer Quelch's?"
Harry could not immediately respond. He had forgotten for the moment that the suggestion to follow Percival had come from him. But after a moment's reflection he answered lamely:
"Yes; but it was you who caught sight of Percival as he was on the road to St. Bede's and put the suggestion in my head."
"Well, of all the bosh——Oh, shut up, or put on a strait-waistcoat. You're getting dangerous," said Plunger crushingly, seeing that he had "scored."
Harry, indignant with himself, Plunger, and all the world, went on ahead. But after a bit Plunger caught up to him.
"You needn't get into a wax because I set you right just now. I flatter myself there aren't many chaps can score over me when I choose to set about them. It's not your fault that you've got too much of Gaffer Quelch's seminary for boys and girls about you. I had it for the first term at Garside, but I soon grew out of it. And you'll grow out of it, too. Fact is, Harry, neither of us is to blame for falling into the hands of the Philistines—Beetles, I mean. Let's put the blame on the right shoulders."
"And the right shoulders are——"
"Percival. It was through following him we fell into that beastly trap, and it seems to me—though I don't like to say it—that Percival has a good deal to answer for. What was he doing at St. Bede's? What was he doing with that fellow, Wyndham, who knocked about your cousin so unmercifully at the sand-pits? Did you notice what good terms they were on—Wyndham with his arm tucked through Percival's."
Harry had seen it all, and as Plunger was speaking he recalled that other scene he had striven so hard to forget—when he had seen Percival and Wyndham together near the school. He had tried to put that from him, especially since the heroism Percival had shown on the river. But now it all came back with a rush. There was not the slightest doubt that Percival and Wyndham were on terms of friendship. No one who had witnessed the scene that he and Plunger had witnessed could question it. What did it mean? There was something behind it all.
"Yes, I noticed it, Freddy," he slowly answered. "It puzzles me, and I don't know what to make of it." Then looking up quickly, as though a sudden suspicion had come to him, he blurted out: "I say, is it possible that—that——No, I can't say it—it's too horrid."
"Out with it. There's no one to hear you but me. Remember, we're both in the same boat."
"No one to hear me but you," said Harry, looking quickly round. "And I shouldn't like anybody to hear but you; it's a horrid suspicion that came into my mind just now. There must be something between Percival and Wyndham, that's certain. I've tried not to believe it; but it's no use trying to shut our eyes to facts. Can it be that Percival's plotting against his own school, can it be that he is betraying us to the enemy—those beastly Beetles?"
"Funny! Just the same thing's been running through my mind. Can it be that he's betraying us to the enemy, and can it be"—here Plunger's voice dropped to a whisper, as though he feared the very hedges might overhear him—"that it was he who hauled down the school flag and handed it over to the Beetles?"
"No, no; I can't believe that," cried Harry, clasping his hands over his face, as though to blot out the suspicion.
"And I've been trying not to believe it, but what else are you to make of it? A Beetle couldn't have got to the turret and taken the flag off his own bat. There must have been some one helping him who knew all about the school. If it wasn't Percival, who was it? What are we to think after what we've seen?"
So it came about that while Percival had been doing his best to trace out where the school flag had gone, so as to return it to its old place of honour on the turret, the suspicion came into the minds of these two boys that he was betraying the school.
Even at the moment that this suspicion was born, Paul was sitting by the bedside of Hibbert, with the boy's hand in his. Hibbert had been talking, but the tired eyes, which shone out so brightly from the wan face, had begun to close. Yet the hand still held fast to Paul's. And as Paul looked down lovingly on the face, he murmured to himself the words he had spoken to Wyndham that afternoon—"The link between us kept me strong when all Garside was against me."
And Paul had need of strength, for the battle had not yet ended.