The boys thought it so. First Talbot was shot, and now a diamond pencil (as they phrased it) was stolen. Had they got a black sheep amongst them? If so, who was it?
But in a day or two Trace's assertion proved to be correct. Dr. Brabazon saw Mr. Townshend, the friend who had called upon him, and this gentleman said he had observed a gold pencil in the doctor's hand when he came into the study that day; and he, the doctor, had put it into the large inkstand on the table, as he shook hands with him. This news, if anything, complicated the affair; but it appeared entirely to exonerate the boys, had exoneration been required. It also drew it into a smaller nutshell: and the hypothesis to arise now was, that some one had come in by the glass window and taken it. Dean, the doctor's private servant, a faithful man who had lived with him for many years, avowed freely that it was unusually late when he went in that night to close the shutters. He found the glass door on what he called "the catch;" that is, pushed close to, but not shut; which was nothing unusual. On the following morning the doctor was in his study by six o'clock, and opened the shutters himself, his frequent custom. That the pencil was certainly not in the inkstand then, the doctor felt sure.
"I say, Trace, do you think the German would take the pencil?"
It was Lamb who put this question. Morning school was over, and the boys were in the quadrangle, discussing the loss and other matters. Trace looked up quickly.
"Why do you ask it?"
"Because he was prowling about before the study window the night of the loss—just as he had been the other night when that stupid tale about the smoking got about. I went up to our bedroom: I like to get a few minutes' quiet for reflection sometimes—it improves the mind," continued candid Lamb; "and in chucking a piece of newspaper out of the window, it happened to touch his head. He called out, and that's how I knew he was there."
Trace drew in his breath: a grave suspicion was taking possession of him. The eager boys, a choice knot of them, had gathered round.
"Nobody's ever there at night, no stranger, as Dr. Brabazon said this morning," observed Trace. "It looks queer."
"You think the German went in and helped himself to the pencil, Trace?"
"Be quiet, Onions; you are always so outspoken. I'd rather not 'think' about it on my own score," was Trace's cautious answer.