Rouse’s response came in a sober monotone:
“You are quite right. That one red light, shining all alone, is the end of the Headmaster’s cigar, I think. He will be waiting up for us with a tray of cold supper. May heaven reward his kindly nature.”
They walked on for another mile in contemplative silence. For a time Terence took a turn at wheeling the bicycle. At last the cottage from which they had borrowed it was reached, and it was gratefully returned with the price of a new back tyre.
Twenty minutes later they finally came to Harley’s gates. In the distance they could just distinguish a group of youngsters who had been walking ahead of them making their way stealthily across to Mainwright’s house.
They turned, and behind them they could hear the steady tread of another couple who had been plodding along behind change suddenly to a cautious softness.
Rouse looked round him quizzically. At last he returned his gaze to Terence. “Nick,” said he, “it would be well to rise on the toes.” Next moment he was leading the way with a mysterious and ghostly tread along the gravel path towards Morley’s. “It is the last lap,” said he. “I wonder if we are going to secure a cigar or nuts.”
Terence made no immediate reply. He was looking watchfully towards the Headmaster’s room. But the blinds were drawn and only a dim light could be seen within.
They moved across the open. The rain was still beating down relentlessly upon them. Little pools of water were spreading across the football ground. There was a melancholy mist about the distant houses. They were dog-tired. Whilst they went, their heads bowed a little to the downpour, Rouse spoke no further word, not, however, because he was wondering in his heart what was to be the outcome of that great game, but curiously enough because his mind was busily planning how he could manage to get another hot bath before he went to bed.
When, therefore, right outside Morley’s, a figure came suddenly towards them, Rouse looked up with a start. Then he stopped. It was impossible to mistake the build of that young man. It was Christopher Woolf Roe. Instinctively the captain of cricket and the captain of football drew near to one another and waited for him to speak. They had not long to wait. He stopped in front of them and looked at Rouse.
“The Headmaster would like to speak to you,” he said.