“Won’t you come to my room and have something? You really must,” said Railsford, taking his arm.
Mr Bickers disengaged his arm, and said coldly, “Thank you, no; I will go to my own, if you will open the door.”
Arthur at this moment came up officiously with a glass of water, which Mr Bickers drank eagerly, and then, declining one last offer of assistance, went slowly out towards his own house.
Railsford retired to his room and threw himself into his chair in a state of profound dejection. Mysterious as the whole affair was, one or two things were clear. The one was that his house was disgraced by this criminal and cowardly outrage, the other was that the situation was made ten times more difficult on account of the already notorious feud between himself and the injured master. His high hopes were once more dashed to the ground, and this time, it almost seemed, finally.
Mark Railsford was no coward, yet for half an hour that morning he wished he might be well out of Grandcourt for ever. Then, having admitted cooler counsels, he dressed and went to the captain’s study.
“Call the other prefects here, Ainger. I want to talk to you.”
The seniors were not far off, and speedily assembled.
“First of all,” said the master, who perceived at a glance that it was not necessary for him to explain the gravity of the situation, “can any of you give me any information about this disgraceful affair?”
“None, sir,” said Ainger, a little nettled at the master’s tone; “we have talked it over, and, as far as we are concerned, it’s a complete mystery.”
“Have you any reason to suspect anybody?”