tected in such an hour of peril, elected to disregard this last
order, and, accompanied by his henchman, followed the candle at a
respectful distance down the stairs.

"There's no blood on the stairs," observed the baronet, in a whisper.

"They've left the key in the door," muttered Arthur.

"Hold the light," said Railsford, turning the key, and entering.

Prostrate on the ground, bound hand and foot, and enveloped down to the
waist in a sack, lay the figure of a man, motionless, but certainly not
dead, for sounds proceeded from the depths of the canvas. In a moment
Railsford had knelt and cut the cords round the prisoner's feet and
hands, while Ainger drew the sack from the head.

Arthur gave a whistle of consternation as the features of Mr Bickers
came to light, pale and stern. The sudden sight of Medusa's head could
hardly have had a more petrifying effect. The victim himself was the
first to recover. Stretching his arms and legs in relief, he sat up,
and coolly said,--

"Thank you."

"Whatever does all this mean?" exclaimed Railsford, helping him to rise,
for he was very stiff and cramped.

"That I cannot say. Kindly reach my hat, Ainger."

"Who has done this?"

"That, too, I cannot say. I can walk, thank you."

"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