A murmur of ready assent went up at this appeal—from all except Mellor.
"You see, you are half a Gargoyle yourself, Mellor, or you would have known that. You belong to the amphibia at present. When you've grown out of that you will know better, won't he, Bedes?"
A laugh went up—from all except Mellor. The storm which had looked threatening began to clear under the ready tact of Wyndham. Still, the boys did not like the idea of letting Paul go scot-free.
"Yes, you'll know better than that by-and-by, Mellor," said the youth addressed as Murrell. "Your education was neglected as a Gargoyle. You'll improve as you go along. But, I say, Wyndham, what are you going to do with the specimen you've got? You can't stick it in the museum, you know. So turn it over to us again. We won't hurt it. We'll only give it a run to the sand-pit, and a roll down. It will do it good. Eating sand is better than eating dirt."
"Yes, hand him over," came in a chorus.
"No," came the decided answer, as Wyndham twined his arm in Paul's. "The Gargoyle is my property."
"What are you going to do with him?" demanded Murrell.
"I want to have a little quiet talk with him, that's all."
What could Wyndham want with a little quiet talk with a Gargoyle? It could only be for one purpose—to gather information which might be of use to the Bedes in any future campaign against Garside. So the boys reluctantly turned away, and left Wyndham and Paul together.
"Why have you come a second time to my help?" came in a choking voice from Paul when they were alone.