"When?"
"Now."
"Won't it be sneaking?"
"I should consider we were beastly sneaks if we didn't."
"So we should be!" exclaimed Jack Vance. "They've always been jolly decent to us, and it was on our account they had this row with Grice."
"If Noaks finds we've split, he'll send that knife to the police," said
Mugford.
"I don't care a straw what Noaks does," answered Diggory boldly.
"You fellows needn't have anything to do with it; I'll go and tell Dr.
Denson myself."
"No; I'll come too," said Jack.
"So'll I," added Mugford; and off they started. It was always a great ordeal to enter the doctor's study, even in what might be termed times of peace; and now, as Diggory turned the handle of the door, in answer to the muffled "Come in" which had followed his knock, the three friends experienced a sudden shortness of breath, and an unpleasant sinking sensation at the pit of the stomach.
The two prefects were standing at the front of the writing-table. Allingford's face was very white, and Oaks's very red, "for all the world like the Wars of the Roses," as Jack Vance afterwards remarked, though it would be difficult to clearly understand the simile.