Paul knew that a meeting of his Form had been called, and that he and his doings were to be discussed, probably censured. When would the time arrive that he might take steps to defend himself? When would his lips be unsealed? How much longer would Mr. Moncrief keep him in suspense, and what had become of Zuker?
Unconsciously Paul had strayed from the school to the garden where Hibbert had, not so long since, fallen asleep—in the sleep that knows no waking. He sat for a long time under the tree, thinking of these things, with no one to disturb his thoughts, save the birds that fluttered around him as they used to flutter around Hibbert.
What had become of Hibbert's father? Again and again the question came to him, and he could not dismiss it from his thoughts. He thought of the strange circumstance under which he had last seen him—of that weird scene in the cave with the man Brockman. All that had happened at that interview was fixed indelibly on his memory. He could see Zuker tracing with his finger on the chart the passage of the Dutch to the Medway—could hear his voice as he described all that had happened as they broke the chain on the river and advanced on Upnor Castle. Then—then had followed the strange appearance of the master, and the still stranger interview between him and Zuker.
Was the cave still there? Often and often a strong desire had seized Paul to go there again, but he had resisted it. Now, however, as he thought of all that had happened on the evening he went there, the impulse grew so strong upon him that he could wrestle with it no longer. He must respond to its call.
So, as one under some mighty spell, Paul passed from the garden, and was soon on his way to Cranstead Common.
It was beginning to get dusk as he followed the trail along which he had once followed in the footsteps of Mr. Weevil. After travelling some time in the direction of the river, he came to the thickly-wooded part, where the master had disappeared.
Searching amongst the brambles, he found the curious division which marked the centre, and placing his hand beneath the bushes as before, he was not long in finding the ring that was attached to the circular opening. Raising it, he entered again the sloping tunnel cut in the sandstone.
Though he had only been in that tunnel once before, he had travelled along it so often in imagination since that it seemed to him he was on familiar ground. He had hesitated when he first entered it. He knew not whither it would lead him, what dangers might meet him on the way. He hesitated no longer. Still he walked cautiously, with his hands before him, like a blind man in the darkness, until it began to broaden. Once he thought he heard footsteps behind him, and he came to a sudden pause. Was some one really following him, or was it only the echo of his own footsteps?
He listened attentively, but could hear nothing. It was as silent as the tomb.
"My ears must have deceived me," he told himself, as he continued his way.