"Wake up, you fellows!" he cried, as he dragged his trousers on. "Wake up! D'you hear?"
Dumford popped up his head and asked what the row was over.
"Caggles isn't in bed," said Bottlebury excitedly; "he's felt the string tug, I s'pose, and has hurried off without us."
In another minute every boy had donned his nether garments, and then away they went, pell-mell, down the darkened stairs.
As they rushed outdoors they descried a figure, clad in naught but a night-shirt, making for the tennis-ground.
"Why, that's Caggles!" said Dumford.
"What on earth has he come out like that for?" queried Bottlebury; "he'll catch his death of cold."
"Make no row," warned Dumford. "It strikes me there's something peculiar about this affair. Let's follow him quietly."
Caggles made straight for the shed, and, opening the door, disappeared inside.
In a few seconds he reappeared with the spade in his grasp, and, walking up to the tennis-ground, began to dig.