Tom was at his wits’ ends. He might not defy the master, on the one hand; on the other, he knew the school would send him to Coventry for ever and a day, if he spoke; as he himself would have sent any other boy, in it, doing the same thing. He heartily wished Judy had been in Asia before she had spoken of it, and her tongue with her.
“Were you in the affair yourself, pray?” asked the master.
“No, sir, indeed I was not; and I do not know a single boy who was. I have heard nothing of it, except from Ketch.”
“Then what is your objection to tell me?”
“Well, sir, you know the rules we hold amongst ourselves,” said Tom, blurting out the truth, in his desperation. “I scarcely dare tell you.”
“Yes, you dare, Channing, when I command you to do so,” was the significant answer.
Tom had no resource left; and, very unwillingly, Ketch’s details were drawn from him, bit by bit. The sham invitation, the disappointment touching the tripe and onions, the missing the cloister keys when he reached home, and the finding them outside the west door.
“Did he enter the cloisters and examine them?” said the master, speaking hastily. A possibility had struck him, which had not struck any of the Channings; and it was curious that it had not done so.
“I think not, sir,” replied Tom.
“Then, that’s where Charles is, locked up in the cloisters!” said the master, the recollection of the former locking-up no doubt helping him to the conclusion. “The fact of the keys having been left hanging outside the cloister door might have been sufficient to direct your suspicions.”