"You third-rate scoundrel!" he said. "So you're getting out of it, are you?"
"Getting out of what?" snarled Daw, obviously affrighted by the coincidence of the boy's arrival and his departure.
"You know," returned Jack grimly. "You'd better stay, though, because the game's up."
"I don't know what you mean!" ground out Daw savagely. "Let me pass, you young cubs, or I'll find a way to make you!"
And he lifted his arm threateningly. It was a fatal move. Young Fane, the bully-killer, had a habit of jumping through the air and collaring people who thus threatened him. He jumped now, and his healthy weight, slung around in the vicinity of Daw's neck, hurled the master to the floor with a resounding crash. Jack, only a whit slower than his pal, jumped too, and the both of them held the fellow pinned to the floor.
But Daw was really desperate. What had given him the alarm—had sent him out of his room, in escape, at this hour—was not obvious. But what was obvious was that he was madly anxious to get away. He fought like two men, and the two powerful boys had their work cut out to secure him. Once he planted a fist in Jack's face with tremendous force, and Fane alone kept up the struggle.
But Billy and Silver were at hand, and, recovering from their indecision, they too hurled themselves upon the villain.
Suddenly the Head's room was opened, and the Head, in dressing-gown and carrying a light, appeared on the scene. He saw five persons struggling in an inextricable knot upon his floor, and for the moment he did not know what to think. His first thought was that these were burglars; then he recognized his own boys.
"Patch! Silver!" he ejaculated. "What is this disgraceful conduct? What do you mean by being out of—"
At that moment Fane secured an expert wrestling hold upon the struggling Daw, and that person, recognizing defeat, burst into a torrent of quite unprintable profanity.