he moon had gone behind the clouds, and it was not easy to find a way
through the bushes. Twice branches sprang out from nowhere, and hit
Mike smartly over the shins, eliciting sharp howls of pain.

On the second of these occasions a low voice spoke from somewhere on
his right.

"Who on earth's that?" it said.

Mike stopped.

"Is that you, Wyatt? I say----"

"Jackson!"

The moon came out again, and Mike saw Wyatt clearly. His knees were
covered with mould. He had evidently been crouching in the bushes on
all fours.

"You young ass," said Wyatt. "You promised me that you wouldn't get
out."

"Yes, I know, but----"

"I heard you crashing through the shrubbery like a hundred elephants.
If you _must_ get out at night and chance being sacked, you might
at least have the sense to walk quietly."

"Yes, but you don't understand."

And Mike rapidly explained the situation.

"But how the dickens did he hear you, if you were in the dining-room?"
asked Wyatt. "It's miles from his bedroom. You must tread like a
policeman."

"It wasn't that. The thing was, you see, it was rather a rotten thing
to do, I suppose, but I turned on the gramophone."

"You--_what?_"

"The gramophone. It started playing 'The Quaint Old Bird.' Ripping it
was, till Wain came along."

Wyatt doubled up with noiseless laughter.

"You're a genius," he said. "I never saw such a man. Well, what's the
game now? What's the idea?"

"I think you'd better nip back along the wall and in through the
window, and I'll go back to the dining-room. Then it'll be all right
if Wain comes and looks into the dorm. Or, if you like, you might come
down too, as if you'd just woke up and thought you'd heard a row."

"That's not a bad idea. All right. You dash along then. I'll get
back."

Mr. Wain was still in the dining-room, drinking in the beauties of the
summer night through the open window. He gibbered slightly when Mike
reappeared.

"Jackson! What do you mean by running about outside the house in this
way! I shall punish you very heavily. I shall certainly report the
matter to the headmaster. I will not have boys rushing about the
garden in their pyjamas. You will catch an exceedingly bad cold. You
will do me two hundred lines, Latin and English. Exceedingly so. I
will not have it. Did you not hear me call to you?"

"Please, sir, so excited," said Mike, standing outside with his hands
on the sill.

"You have no business to be excited. I will not ha