Ah! he heard someone stirring! A door opened. It was not in One South. Where was it?
"Old B. coming to bed," Clive told himself. "Then it's about eleven. Those two will be slipping downstairs in a few minutes."
Yes, it was nearly eleven. The big clock began to chime the quarters as the door of One South was noiselessly pushed open. Clive lifted his head and looked in that direction. The well-known and popular figure of Mr. Branson entered the dormitory. On tip-toe, for he was ever thoughtful, bearing a lighted candle in one hand, he gently closed the door and slid across to his own room opposite. And in the years that he had been at Ranleigh, how many boys had seen him going to bed? Not many, we trow. Not because of the late hour, for Old B. did not hold with them. But simply for the reason that boys sleep well, while Old B.'s steps were of the lightest, in spite of his burly figure. The door closed after him, the last stroke of eleven sounded. Silence fell upon Ranleigh school and its surroundings. And then Clive's eyelids drooped. Like the other fellows in the dormitory, he fell asleep and forgot for the moment all about the task which he and his friends had set themselves.
"Well? What happened? See anyone? Hear anything?"
The questions were rained upon Trendall and Bert as soon as the Old Firm were gathered on the following morning.
"Not a soul. But Clive was right about a fellow getting drowsy," said Trendall at once. "If it hadn't been for the movement and the need to meet Bert I'd have dropped off on many an occasion. I met him five minutes after the hour of eleven had struck. We went off to bed at two o'clock precisely."
"Then Bert? Well?" asked Clive of that young fellow. Bert grinned. Evidently he had contrived to gather some fun out of the adventure.
"Jolly nearly made an awful ass of myself," he grinned.
"Where's the difficulty?" asked Masters, with unaccustomed satire. "Ain't it pretty usual?"
"Shut up!" cried Clive. "You chaps are always sparring. Now, Bert."