"Well, we'll leave your honour out of it, if you don't care to stick up for it. But there's the honour of the school, and do you know what they're saying? They're saying that the flag business was all a dodge—that it's been engineered between you and the Beetle you would not stand up to in the sand-pits!"
"Engineered! How do you mean?" demanded Paul, staggered by this fresh accusation.
"That it was all arranged between you and the Beetle."
"I—I can't quite see. I don't understand. Do you mean——"
"Let him have it straight; so that he can't wriggle out of it!" exclaimed Newall, as Paul paused, unable to get out the words that came as a torrent to the lips.
"I mean that the theft of the flag was arranged between you and that fellow at St. Bede's; and that it's come back again by the same clever piece of trickery."
"Is that what they're saying?" demanded Paul.
"That's what they're saying."
"And—and—what do you say, Stan?" The name came out in a gulp.
Had Stanley only followed his better impulse, he would have answered: