The words died away into silence, and they stood listening to the strokes of the deep-toned cathedral bell. With the last, twelve, another day had dawned upon the world. What would it bring forth for them?
“I shall go to the police-station,” said Hamish. “Constance, my dear, you had better not remain outside. Go indoors.”
It was well to say “Go indoors,” but in the agitation and suspense at that moment overwhelming Constance, “indoors” was not so easy to bear. Hamish strode off, Tom following him. Arthur remained with his sister, waiting and watching still.
And so they waited and watched through the livelong night. Hamish was at work; the police were at work; Tom was at work: but neither sign nor trace could be found of Charles Channing.
CHAPTER XLII. — AN OFFICIAL CEREMONY INTERRUPTED.
A grey dusky morning, enveloped in fog, succeeded to the fine night. Before seven o’clock—so watchful and alert are boys when mischief is afloat—most of those who had been in the conspiracy were assembled, and waiting round the schoolroom doors. Generally, they could tear up at the twelfth moment. They would not have missed the sight of Charles Channing’s arrival for half-a-crown apiece, so curious were they to see how he looked, after his fright. As it happened, it was not at any of their homes that inquiries had been made the previous night; not one of them was, to say, intimate with Charley: they were most of them older than he. Consequently, they knew nothing of the search. Tod Yorke, who did know of it, had not yet arrived. Of all the king’s scholars, none were marked late more frequently than Master Tod.
The senior boy had gone to the head-master’s for the keys as usual, and now came down the cloisters, clanking them in his hand.
“Has Charles Channing turned up?” he called out, before he was well abreast of them.