Gunpowder Treason and Plot Part 15

Mrs. Arden sat by the open window in her parlour, doing some fancy work.

Suddenly the door opened, and her nephew entered. His face was flushed, and he still wore the "blazer" and flannels in which he had gone to cricket.

"You're back early," said his aunt.

The boy made no reply. He sat down on a chair, and a moment later buried his face in his hands.

Mrs. Arden had thought he looked queer.

"What's the matter?" she asked, laying down her work. "Have you been hurt?"

The "Weasel" shook his head, and gave vent to what sounded like a stifled sob.

"It's this hot sun, I expect," said his aunt. "I daresay you've been running about in it without your cap."

And hurrying out of the room, she returned a moment later with some cold water.

"Now," she said, kneeling down by the boy's side, "tell me what's the matter. Are you feeling giddy or faint?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Tell me what's the matter._" Page 188.]

"Oh no, aunt," moaned the "Weasel," raising a face on which was depicted an expression of unutterable woe. "It isn't that! It's the cup--the c.o.c.k-house Cup! It's gone, and can't be found!"

"Well, what of that?" answered Aunt Polly, who could not realize the immense value which the trophy possessed in a schoolboy's eyes.

"Why--why," faltered the unhappy juvenile, almost weeping, "it's my fault! I did it!"

"You? What nonsense! Tell me directly what you mean."

When once started on the work of unburdening his soul, words came quickly enough.

"It was like this. You know I told you how Conway's won the cup. It's worth pounds and pounds; besides which, it's the one that has been played for ever since there was a c.o.c.k-house Cup, and it has all the names of the winners engraved on it, so it could never be replaced; and, oh! I believe the fellows would kill me if they knew it was my fault!"

"Yes; but how _was_ it your fault?" interrupted the aunt.

"Why, after the match was over, there was a crowd in the pavilion, and I squeezed in too. Buckle had the cup, and he put it down close to me on a locker. Lots of fellows were chaffing old Buckle. I happened to have a key in my pocket that fitted the case, and, just for a lark, I managed to unlock it when no one was looking, and I slipped the cup inside the locker. I thought Buckle would notice at once that the box was lighter than before, and I never meant that he should go away without the cup; but just then Brise ordered us all to clear out of the pavilion. Young Roberts trod on my foot, and I chased him; and, somehow, I forgot all about what I'd done until yesterday morning, when some one told me that the cup was lost. Now they say one of Morgan's fellows stole it, and Mr.

Conway is going to put the matter in the hands of the police."

"But, my dear boy, why didn't you go and tell some one at once what you'd done, and where they will find the cup?"

"That's just it," groaned the "Weasel." "I don't know where the cup is--it's gone! I made an excuse and went and looked in the locker, but it wasn't there; and I know Herbert has searched every corner of the pavilion. It must have been stolen; and oh, aunt, it's all my fault!

What _shall_ I do?"

Aunt Polly could be firm if she liked, and her answer was prompt and decisive.

"Go at once and tell Mr. Conway exactly what you've told me," she said.

"And say you are sorry you were too much of a coward to do so before. If a theft has been committed, every hour you leave it makes it less likely the cup will ever be recovered."

Standing together in the house-master's study were Mr. Conway, Mr.

Morgan, and Southby, the last named a strong, pleasant-looking boy, who it was difficult to believe could be guilty of any mean or underhanded action.

"Come, Southby," said Mr. Conway; "don't be foolish. This is a serious matter, and it becomes all the more serious from your refusal to give us the explanation we demand. What brought you into our house yard the other evening?"

"I can't say, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be acting unfairly to some one else."

"Oh, so there is some one else concerned in this matter besides yourself?"

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Master Harry Westcott entered the room. He was pale and trembling, and that air of jaunty self-confidence which usually distinguished him had entirely vanished.

With a great effort, and in faltering tones, he made his confession. The room seemed to swim before his eyes, but somehow he got through to the end of his story, and then breathlessly awaited the result.

"Why didn't you tell me this at once, sir?" demanded the master sharply.

"No doubt the cup has been stolen from the pavilion. Tut! We must send at once and tell the police."

Then came what was, perhaps, the most extraordinary part of the whole business; for, as Mr. Conway stepped forward to ring the bell, there was a knock at the door, and a servant entered, carrying what at first sight looked like a bundle of green baize.

"Mr. Daniels has sent this, sir, and the boy's waiting to take back the cloth."

Mr. Conway sprang forward, stripped off the covering, and held up to the astonished gaze of all beholders--_the c.o.c.k-house Cup_!

"Why--why, where does this come from?" he exclaimed.

"Mr. Daniels, the jeweller, sent it, sir. The boy says you will find the bill for the engraving inside."

There was a sound of footsteps in the pa.s.sage, and Brise, the captain of cricket, burst unceremoniously into the room.

"I'm very sorry, sir," he began, "but I've been away for two days, and I only heard about the bother a few minutes ago. I told Buckle I would see about having the name of the house engraved on the cup if he liked to leave it in my hands. I found it, after the others had gone, in one of the lockers, and I thought it had been left there on purpose; so I took it down straight away, and handed it over to Daniels. I didn't mention the matter, because I thought there was no necessity."

The mysterious disappearance of the cup was now fully explained; only one question remained to be answered.

"Come, Southby," said Mr. Conway. "Tell me in confidence what it was brought you into our yard."

"Well, sir," answered the boy, "I borrowed a saloon pistol from one of your boys, and I came to return it. I didn't like to tell you for fear of getting him into a row."

"Oh, that's the explanation, is it?" replied the master, laughing.

"Well, if I find the pistol I shall confiscate it; but in this instance I won't press you to tell the boy's name, though I think I could guess it, if I tried."

So the matter ended, and except that the "Weasel" got a licking for his presumption in laying irreverent hands on such a sacred treasure as the c.o.c.k-house Cup, there is nothing further to relate.

THE END.