The old feeling came over him that had come over him on the day when he had lost that other letter on his way to Redmead. It had disappeared from his pocket just as mysteriously. He looked around. There was no trace of it in the room. Then he remembered that he had pulled out his handkerchief in the common room to staunch the blood from his cheek. He must have pulled out the letter with it.
It would not have mattered much had it been an ordinary letter. But it was not an ordinary one. Far from it. It contained references to Zuker and Mr. Weevil which might cause no end of mischief were it to get into the wrong hands.
He did not like the idea of returning to the common room; it was like swallowing a nauseous draught of medicine. Probably the boys were still there, laughing over his discomfiture. Yet, nauseous though the draught was, it had to be swallowed, and it was best to swallow it quickly.
So he again descended to the common room. He faintly hoped that it might be deserted, but that hope vanished as he reached the room. This time he heard the voice of Newall. He paused for a moment; then went boldly forward.
Stanley had gone—he saw that at a glance; so had most of the others; but Newall, Parfitt, and two or three more had remained, and were evidently discussing recent events.
They could not have been more startled had a ghost entered, instead of a being of flesh and blood. Paul searched round the room in the hope of finding some trace of the missing letter, but found none.
"Dotty!" came the voice of one of the boys, who had by this time recovered from their surprise at the unexpected return of Paul.
"Looking for the courage that oozed out at his heels," sneered Parfitt.
"I've lost a letter," said Paul, on whom these facetious remarks were quite lost. "You don't happen to have seen it?"
No one answered him. They stared blankly at him. They did not mind speaking at him. Speaking to him was quite a different thing.