The question answered itself within a minute, and after a fashion absolutely unforeseen. As John was crossing from the shrubbery to the wicket he looked back. To his horror, he saw lights in the boys' side, light in the window of Scaife's room. Instantly John divined what had come to pass, and cursed himself for a fool. Warde, from some coign of vantage, had seen a boy leave his house. Why should he try to arrest the boy? why should he risk the humiliation of running after him, and, perhaps, failing to capture him? No, no; men forty were not likely to work in that boyish fashion. Warde had adopted an infinitely better plan. Assured that a boy had left the house, he had nothing to do but walk round the rooms and find out which one was absent. He had begun with Scaife. Next to Scaife was the room belonging to the Head of the House; then came John's room, and then Cæsar's. Long before Warde reached Cæsar's room, Cæsar would have heard him. Cæsar, at any rate, was saved. John crept back under cover of the shrubberies. He saw the light flicker out of Scaife's window, and shine more steadily in the next room. The window of this room was open, and John could hear the voice of Warde and the Head of the House. John waited. And then the light shone in Desmond's room. John crouched against the wall, trembling. If Cæsar had not heard the voices, if he were fully dressed, if—— Suddenly he caught Warde's reassuring words: "Ah, Desmond, sorry to disturb you. Good night."
John waited. Very soon Scaife would come to Desmond's room. Ah! Just so. The night was so still that he could hear quite plainly the boys' muffled voices.
"What's up?"
"Warde is going his rounds. Perhaps he smells a rat."
And then whispers! John strained his ears. Only a word or two more reached him. "Verney—— D——d interfering sneak! Let's see!" It was Scaife who was speaking.
John heard his own door opened and shut. Scaife, then, had discovered his absence, and naturally leaped to the conclusion that he had warned Warde. Let him think so! The boys were still whispering together. "Not to-night," Scaife said decisively. "No, no," Desmond replied.
John wondered what remained to be done. Warde, of course, would satisfy himself that no boy in his house was missing except John, before he pronounced him the absentee. Poor Warde! This would be a hard knock for him. John's thoughts were jostling each other freely, when he recalled Desmond's words: "I have one more chance before the term is over." He had wished to clear the way for his friend, not to block it. Then he remembered the terms of the bet, and laughed.
He ran back to the wicket, found the bicycle, lit the lamp, and hoisted the machine over the gate. Then he laughed again. After all, this escaping from bondage, this midnight adventure beneath the impending sword of expulsion, thrilled him to the marrow.
When John returned on Sunday to the Manor, shortly after the doors were unlocked in the morning, he found Dumbleton awaiting him. Dumber's face expressed such amazement and consternation that John nearly laughed in spite of himself.