The Fifth had duly considered it, and a day later had despatched an answer with Mellor. And this was the answer: "Gargoyle, otherwise spout—receiving things that come from gutters. Meant to frighten people by making ugly faces. Good for little else. If the Fifth Form has one Gargoyle of any pluck amongst them, he will find a Fifth Form Beetle ready to meet him at the sand-pit, Cranstead Common, to-morrow afternoon, three sharp."
"It's a challenge," said Hasluck.
"Read it out," came in a chorus.
And Hasluck read it out.
"Don't you think you've got a lot of cheek to bring a note like that, Mellor," remarked Arbery when Hasluck had finished.
"Not half as much as Parfitt had in writing the one he sent by me," retorted Mellor indignantly.
"What does it feel like, being a Beetle?" asked Leveson politely. "Kitchen stuff's fattening, isn't it?"
"After going about on all fours, don't you find it a bit tricky to stand on your hind legs again?" remarked Arbery. "Want a balancing-pole, don't you?"
Before Mellor could reply, a mysterious gurgling sound came from the direction in which Devey was standing.
"Hallo, Devey, what's wrong?" demanded Hasluck, as every eye turned in his direction.