"Yes; the flag's come back, sure enough," answered Newall. "And how the dickens did it come back?—that's the puzzle. Hallo! There's your young cousin. He ought to know something about it. Moncrief—Moncrief minor!" he shouted.
Harry, who was crossing the grounds at the time, turned in answer to the shouts and came towards the three boys.
"Got the flag?" he asked innocently.
"No cheek, kid, else we'll trounce you like we've just trounced your friend Plunger!" retorted Newall sharply.
"Who brought the flag back? How did it get there?"—glancing to the turret.
"Oh, it got there by a friend of yours—Paul Percival," answered Harry, hitting back. "He's beaten you, just like you've beaten my friend Plunger."
Newall scowled, and would have treated him to a taste of the swisher, only he recollected that he was Stanley's cousin.
"Be serious, Harry," said Stanley. "Percival, did you say? Do you really mean that the flag was brought back by him?"
"I am serious, Stan—never more so in my life. The flag was brought back by Percival, and put in its old place on the turret by Percival."
He then told them precisely what had happened. The three boys listened in silence. Percival had stolen a march upon them, that was quite clear. Stanley wondered whether his note of warning had put him on his guard. The thought that it had been of some service might have pleased Stanley, but the memory of Percival talking to Wyndham hardened his heart against him once more. He smothered the old feeling of friendship that would keep trying to assert itself, in spite of himself.