Acton knocked at the door; and receiving no answer, pushed it open and looked in. The room was empty.
"Come on," cried Allingford; "the 'gym!' They may be there still."
They rushed down the stairs, scattering a group of small boys who were roasting chestnuts at the gas-jet in the passage, and on through the box-room, but only to find the door on the other side standing wide open, and the gymnasium itself silent and deserted—two empty water-cans, lying in a big pool of wet on the cement floor, being the only remaining traces of the recent outrage.
"They're gone," said Acton. "What shall we do?"
"We'll find one of them, at all events," replied his companion; and returning once more to the neighbourhood of the studies, he shouted,—
"Thurston!"
There was a faint "Hullo!" and a moment later a door opened half-way down the passage.
"Well, what d'you want?"
Allingford walked quickly forward. "Look here," he demanded sternly, "where have you been? What have you been doing?"
"Doing!" echoed Thurston; "why, I've been sitting here for the last two hours with old Smeaton. I asked him to let me come and work in his study to-night. There's some of this Ovid I can't get on with, and he promised he'd help me out with it if I'd tell him what it was I didn't understand."