The Hero of Garside School Part 50

"Are you alone?"

"No; we have brought two novices who are anxious to be introduced to the mystic order."

Plunger began to p.r.i.c.k up his ears. The mystic order? What mystic order?

And what were they going to do with them?

"Two novices who are anxious to be introduced to the mystic order?" came the voice from within. "They wish to become brethren?"

"Yes."

"N--n--no!" came in a gasp from Plunger's lips; but another sharp dig in his ribs reduced him once more to silence.

"Yes, most worthy K. O. P. They are dying to become brethren of the n.o.ble band."

"I say, you unkind Beetles," began Harry. "Oh, oh!"

He was silenced by the same unfailing method which had just been brought to bear upon his companion.

A short conversation took place between the masked figure who had acted as spokesman and the person within. At the end of it the former turned to his companions.

"Blindfold the novices. The Keeper of the Portal has commanded it."

Keeper of the Portal? That, then, was the meaning of the initials "K. O.

P." thought Plunger.

It was getting more and more mysterious, but he did not like the idea of being blindfolded. What were they going to do with him--with Moncrief?

At first he felt inclined to resist, but a sharp twist of the wrist soon convinced him that resistance was useless. Harry had come to the same conclusion, so they submitted with the best grace they could to bandages being placed round their eyes. Then they heard the door open and the voice of the "Keeper of the Portal" commanding them to enter.

They entered. As they did so, Plunger thought he heard some one sn.i.g.g.e.ring, and again a wild idea crossed his mind that he would strike out and make a desperate effort to escape from his captors; but the instant he moved he was brought to a standstill by the energetic measures which were now becoming painfully familiar to him.

The sn.i.g.g.e.ring, if sn.i.g.g.e.ring it was, soon ceased, and then a strange silence reigned in the barn. The silence was a great deal worse to Plunger than any amount of ridicule. Who were in the barn? What was happening?

He strained his ears to the utmost. He could hear the sound of mysterious footsteps walking stealthily to and fro, but no one spoke. He stood there and s.h.i.+vered, though the perspiration was oozing from his forehead. Was some desperate plot on foot against them? The footsteps ceased. All was again so still that he began to think the barn had been deserted and that he had been left in it blindfolded, to make his way from it the best he could. He was about to call out to Harry when a voice he had not yet heard called out sharply:

"Gargoyle with the eyebrows, what is thy name?"

Gargoyle with the eyebrows!

"S'pose that's meant for me," thought Plunger, "but I'm not going to answer such impudent questions."

"The n.o.ble president speaketh. Answer, Gargoyle with the wiry thatch,"

came a voice in Plunger's ear, accompanied by a sharp kick on the s.h.i.+ns.

Gargoyle with the eyebrows! Gargoyle with the wiry thatch! Was there ever such insolence? But that kick on the s.h.i.+ns told Plunger that to raise any protest would only bring upon him worse punishment, so he stammered out:

"Fre--Frederick Pl--Plunger."

"Plunger! Thy name is worse than thy face."

Plunger heard sn.i.g.g.e.rs on every side at this reference to his name, of which he had always been very proud.

"It's such an uncommon one, you know," he had often said to his cronies at Garside. And now the wretched crew into whose hands he had fallen were trying to make fun of it. He bubbled over with indignation, but simmered down on hearing similar questions put to his companion in misfortune.

He was aroused from these reflections by hearing the chief of the band exclaim, in tones of command:

"Make fast the portal!"

He heard the sound as of a rusty bolt being thrust into its socket.

"I say, you chaps," he protested, beginning to feel alarmed again as he heard this ominous sound, "I wish you'd stop your larks and take this wretched thing from my eyes. If you'll just oblige me, I won't give you away--I really won't."

"We're going to take the bandage from thy eyes, but first thou must promise, on the banner of our n.o.ble Order, to become a comrade and a brother."

"I--I promise," stammered Plunger, anxious only to get the use of his eyes again.

"Thou must promise also, by the same sacred emblem, never to reveal what thou dost see."

"I--I promise."

The same questions were put to Harry, who was just as anxious as his companion to see what was going on, and thought that no possible harm could be done in following Plunger's lead. So he gave the same promises.

The bandages, however, were not immediately removed. The two boys could hear the sound of footsteps moving round them, and voices chanting in some unknown tongue what seemed to be a mysterious incantation.

"Remove the bandages," commanded the chief, when this curious incantation, of which the two prisoners could make nothing, had ended.

At this command the bandages were removed. The scene that presented itself to the astonished eyes of Plunger and Harry was one of the most extraordinary they had ever witnessed. Their four captors seemed to have disappeared. Standing around them in a circle were what appeared to be eleven beetles standing erect on two legs, instead of crawling about on four. On the breast of each was a letter, which, being white, stood out prominently from the dark background, and gave to this singular circle a still more singular appearance. The letters made up the following:

M. O. OF BEETLES.

in other words--The Mystic Order of Beetles.

Plunger rubbed his eyes. Was he awake or sleeping? He was wide enough awake, but he could not at once grasp the situation. What did it all mean?

The reader has doubtless made a better guess at what had happened than Plunger. It was in this way. Mellor and Crick, the two boys who had gained possession of the Garside flag, had found a good deal of amus.e.m.e.nt at first in making surrept.i.tious visits to the barn, and dancing round their capture, but they soon began to long for something more exciting. Truth to tell, the capture had not made the sensation in the ranks of the enemy they had antic.i.p.ated--so at least it seemed to them. They had expected early reprisals, but none had come. So, after they had performed a war-dance round the flag with their companions five or six times, Mellor yearned for something more exciting. So did Crick.

So did the others.

"The Gargoyles don't seem to worry much about the flag after all," said Mellor, thoughtfully wiping his brow, after the last of these spirited exercises round the Garside standard.

"Not a bit. Seems to me they're only too glad to get rid of the wretched thing," remarked Finch, one of the boys who had been envious of the daring capture.

"Are they? That's all you know, Finch," retorted Mellor, angry that his remark should be taken so literally. "If we could only see them, we should find them tearing their hair and gnas.h.i.+ng their teeth."

"Then why don't they come after their property and try to get it back again?"

"Because they don't know for certain who's got it. They're lying low."

"Well, we'd better do the same. I can't see much fun in hopping round the wretched rag. Why the Gargoyles should make so much of it I can't make out."

"That's because you've never been at Garside. I dare say if we'd been left a flag like that by an old school-fellow who had made a name for himself, we should have been as proud of it as they are. It was worth getting just to set those bounders back a bit. I should like to see you do what Crick did, Finch!"