"Oh, so there is some one else concerned in this matter besides yourself?"
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Master Harry Westcott entered the room. He was pale and trembling, and that air of jaunty self-confidence which usually distinguished him had entirely vanished. With a great effort, and in faltering tones, he made his confession. The room seemed to swim before his eyes, but somehow he got through to the end of his story, and then breathlessly awaited the result.
"Why didn't you tell me this at once, sir?" demanded the master sharply. "No doubt the cup has been stolen from the pavilion. Tut! We must send at once and tell the police."
Then came what was, perhaps, the most extraordinary part of the whole business; for, as Mr. Conway stepped forward to ring the bell, there was a knock at the door, and a servant entered, carrying what at first sight looked like a bundle of green baize.
"Mr. Daniels has sent this, sir, and the boy's waiting to take back the cloth."
Mr. Conway sprang forward, stripped off the covering, and held up to the astonished gaze of all beholders—the Cock-house Cup!
"Why—why, where does this come from?" he exclaimed.
"Mr. Daniels, the jeweller, sent it, sir. The boy says you will find the bill for the engraving inside."
There was a sound of footsteps in the passage, and Brise, the captain of cricket, burst unceremoniously into the room.
"I'm very sorry, sir," he began, "but I've been away for two days, and I only heard about the bother a few minutes ago. I told Buckle I would see about having the name of the house engraved on the cup if he liked to leave it in my hands. I found it, after the others had gone, in one of the lockers, and I thought it had been left there on purpose; so I took it down straight away, and handed it over to Daniels. I didn't mention the matter, because I thought there was no necessity."