The Hero of Garside School Part 3

It was as much as to say that "a Garside fellow" was not capable of doing what a "St. Bede fellow" could do.

"I'd run any risk--quick! I can near them coming! Where's the well?"

It was only a few paces from where they were standing. Wyndham led the way.

"I'll let you down a little way; then draw you up again directly the men have gone--that is to say, if they should come this way."

"They are coming this way. I feel sure of it, and there's no time to lose."

"Here you are, then. Keep steady, and don't make a sound. They won't think of you stowed away down there."

Paul got into the bucket. The chain was somewhat rusty, but though it was the worse for disuse, and creaked as it was lowered, it held firm.

When Wyndham had lowered Paul a short distance, he made firm the chain; so that he was suspended half-way between the water and the top. It wasn't a very pleasant situation. A dank smell came from below, and it seemed the abode of darkness as the boy above shut out the last remnant of light by placing the cover a little way over the well.

Not a moment too soon, for he had only just finished when a man darted up to him and seized him by the collar.

"Ha! Got you at last, have I? A nice chase you've led us."

"What's the matter? That's my collar when you've done with it. Drop it, please!"

"Hand over that paper."

"What paper?"

"The paper you're taking to Redmead. Quick--out with it!"

Wyndham, though he did not appreciate the man's grip on his collar, was enjoying the joke. He could see what had happened. The man had mistaken him for "that Garside fellow" down the well.

"I would like to oblige you, but I really don't know what you're talking about. I haven't any paper."

By this time the second man had arrived on the scene. His sharp, ferrety eyes, which--like the eyes of a cat--seemed capable of seeing in the darkness, immediately went to Wyndham's face.

"Hi, Brockman! Hi! What are you doing? You have got hold of the wrong boy!"

"The wrong boy!" exclaimed the man addressed as Brockman. "Are you sure?"

"Certain! Where are your eyes?"

"They're not quite so sharp as yours, Mr. Zuker, I know; but I made sure I'd tracked the youngster here."

Paul could hear distinctly every word that pa.s.sed from his uncomfortable position down the well. As the name Zuker fell upon his ears he trembled so that he nearly over-balanced himself and fell into the water below.

It was not with fear. Zuker! That name was one he was never likely to forget so long as memory lasted. It was the name of the man for whom his poor father had sacrificed his life!

Could it be the same? It was not a common name, and though the man spoke English readily, it was with a German accent. Instinctively Paul felt that it was the same, instinctively he felt that the man who had been in pursuit of him was the man whom his father had tried to save from the sea so long ago. As a recompense for what the father had done he was hunting down the son!

"Thank you; it's very kind of you," said Wyndham, as Brockman released his hold. "Seems to me you're a little too hasty with your hands! The next time you take any one by the collar you'd better make sure first that you're going for the right one!"

Brockman turned away without deigning to reply. Zuker was about to follow his example, but, suddenly checking himself, he asked:

"Have you seen any one pa.s.s this way--a boy about your size--no, not quite so tall," as the sharp eyes took note of Wyndham's height.

"About my own size--not quite so tall? Let me see." Wyndham paused as though trying to remember.

"Make haste!" cried Zuker impatiently. "We haven't any time to lose.

Surely you can remember."

"I'm trying to. You see, there are a good number of boys pa.s.s along this road during the day."

"I'm not speaking about the daytime--within the last quarter of an hour!"

"A quarter of an hour. Let me think."

"You'll get nothing from that blockhead, sir!" cried Brockman. "We're losing valuable time!"

Zuker had drawn near the well. His hand rested upon the handle. Wyndham was a cool boy, whom it took a great deal to disturb, but it must be confessed that he required all his coolness and self-possession at that moment. He was fearful lest Zuker might catch a glimpse of Paul down the well. But, fortunately, he was too intent on questioning Wyndham. So, after asking him one or two more questions, he said cuttingly:

"You're a sharp youth. You will set the Thames on fire some day--ugh!"

He looked for the moment as though he would spurn Wyndham with his foot; but instead of doing so he gave a vicious twist to the well-handle--to the no small alarm of Wyndham--and hastened after his tool and servant, Brockman.

Wyndham leapt to the windla.s.s. The twist given by the German had set the bucket in motion. Paul was rapidly descending in the bucket to the bottom! He seized the handle in his hand and held on to it with all his strength. It vibrated as though it were a live thing. He feared that the sudden strain upon the chain might snap it in twain, but it held firm.

"Hi, hi!" he cried below. "Are you all right?"

A moment of intense silence--a moment which seemed interminable to the boy clinging to the handle of the windla.s.s; then, to his great relief, the voice of Paul came faintly up the well:

"All right! But--but it's been a near thing!"

"Hold tight. I'm going to haul you up!"

Slowly he hauled Paul to the top of the well; and, with an inexpressible feeling of thankfulness, Paul stepped from the bucket.

"Have they gone?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes. A near thing, you said; what happened?"

"You just stopped me within about a foot of the water, and the sudden jerk nearly pitched me out of the bucket. The scoundrels have gone, you say?"

"Yes," smiled Wyndham; "they've gone in hot pursuit of you. They little dreamt you were down that well! You couldn't have had a better hiding-place."

"Better! Well, perhaps you're right; but it was a bit musty and uncomfortable! I'm much obliged to you, all the same. You seem a decent fellow, though you are a Beetle!"

Beetle was the nickname given by the Garside boys to the boys of St.

Bede's.

Wyndham laughed. Paul glanced round the melancholy, deserted ruin. He could see no sign of human habitation.

"And you seem a decent fellow, though you are a Gargoyle." (Gargoyle was the nickname given by the St. Bede boys to the boys of Garside School.) "What's your name?"