A SECRET SOCIETY.
It was a clear, starlight night. Diggory was one of the first to leave the dining-hall, and, passing swiftly out of the quadrangle, was soon hurrying across the junior playing field. On reaching the pavilion, all was quiet and deserted, and he stood for a moment considering what should be his next step.
The thin hedge dividing the two playgrounds was by this time bare of leaves, and afforded no hiding-place; the only chance of concealment was to take shelter inside the den itself—a place which has already been described. This, however, seemed rather like venturing into the lion's mouth. What was going to happen? Would anything take place, or was it only a wild-goose chase after all?
"Here goes!" muttered Diggory to himself. He opened the door, pulling it to again after him as he crept inside; then taking a step forward in the pitchy darkness, promptly fell over a bucket with an appalling crash. Scrambling once more to his feet, he felt in his waistcoat pocket, and finding there a fusee which he remembered to have taken from a box owned by "Rats," he struck it, and by the aid of its feeble glare crept behind the heap of benches which lay piled up close to the opposite wall.
Hardly had he done so when there were a sound of footsteps and a murmur of conversation; the door was opened, and some one crept into the den. No sooner had the new-comer crossed the threshold than he stopped, sniffed audibly, and exclaimed,—
"Hullo! what a stink of fusees! Who's been here, I wonder?"
Diggory instantly recognized the voice as belonging to Noaks, and the sound of it brought a momentary recollection of the time when he and Jack Vance had lain concealed behind the hedge opposite to Horace House. His heart beat fast, and he vainly wished that he had had sufficient forethought to come provided with some ordinary matches. Several more boys entered, and one of them struck a light. Diggory, peering through an aperture in the pile of forms, saw at a glance who they were—Fletcher senior, Thurston, Noaks, and Hawley.
"There don't seem to be any one about," continued Noaks, peering into the corners; "yet it's rum there should be such a smell of fusees."
"I expect it was the man," said Thurston, producing a candle-end, and sticking it in an empty ginger-beer bottle which lay on the ground. "He was in here this afternoon after some of those old boxes, and I expect he lit his pipe. The smell is sure to hang about when the door's shut."
The four boys sat down on two upturned buckets and a couple of old hampers, with the candle in their midst, and Diggory gave vent to an inward sigh of relief.