“Who gave you leave?”
“Tempest, sir.”
“Take the blazer back where you found it, and tell Tempest if he leaves his things in the gymnasium he must fetch them at proper hours. This is the third time I have had to speak to you, Jones iv. You must attend an extra drill to-morrow, and learn fifty lines by heart. This constant irregularity must be stopped.”
So saying, he took his companion’s arm and strolled off.
I returned dismally into the dark gymnasium and flung the blazer on to the nearest seat; and then hurried back to report the result of my mission to Tempest.
As I guessed, our poor guy downstairs was likely to be nowhere in the explosion which this last insult called forth.
With clenched teeth Tempest sprang from his seat and snatched his cap.
“It’s awfully dark,” said I; “if you’re going, you’d better take some matches.”
“Fetch me some,” said he, with a harsh, dry voice. I fled off, and returned with a box of fusees, which the Philosophers had laid in for the approaching celebration of Guy Fawkes’ Day.
Tempest snatched them from my hand and strode off. I wished he had let me go with him. I heard his footsteps swing heavily across the quadrangle, as if challenging the notice of the enemy. Whether the enemy heard or answered the challenge I could not say. The steps died away into silence, and I listened in vain for further sign.