"Now I smell a rat!" he exclaimed. "Roger, you sly old fox, how many of those riddles did you write?"
Robin and Roger saw this time that the cat was too far out of the bag to be replaced. Both giggled rather foolishly, while the Captain laughed at them.
"Cut away, Robin," said Roger. "Keep everything squat still. Better to leave them guessing."
Robin pelted away willingly, glad to be relieved of the secret which he and the prefect had shared. The riddles had been so much talked about, and he had been so closely questioned concerning them, that the sudden fame thrust upon him had become embarrassing.
Still, he had enjoyed the sensation for a time, and an idea struck him now which thrilled him suddenly with excitement.
"Why," said Robin to himself, "shouldn't the Merry Men have a jolly old magazine all to themselves? Not a big printed thing, of course, like the Foxonian or the Rag. Just pocket-size, so that a fellow could slip it inside his Latin grammar and read it in school hours."
No grass ever had the chance to grow long under Robin's feet. At once he called a meeting of the Merry Men in the quietest corner of Rooke's House, and put his proposal before them with infectious enthusiasm.
"Champion!" Little John voted the idea.
"It's a winner, Robin!" said David of Doncaster.
"I'll write a serial for it," said Allan a Dale.