of love and
friendship within him, though there was little that was friendly in its
tone.

"Answer you what, Stan?" asked Paul, in softer tones.

Stanley knew little of the grounds of the present dispute, but he
guessed that he could not be far wrong in repeating the question that
Newall had just put. So he repeated it.

"Yes, I'll answer it," came Paul's response, "for whatever else you may
think me guilty of, Stanley, I don't think you'll believe me guilty of
telling a deliberate falsehood. I haven't set anybody on to keep Newall
a prisoner in the shed, and, whatever has happened to him, I've had no
hand in it."

He spoke with such earnestness and sincerity that there was scarcely any
one present, with perhaps the exception of Newall himself, who doubted
him.

"I think you can take Percival's word for it," said Stanley, turning to
Newall.

"Thanks so much for one crumb of confidence." Paul, in spite of himself,
could not prevent a slight accent of bitterness creeping into his voice.
"It is really very good of you to think that my word may be taken, and I
hope you won't think me ungrateful."

"If you say his word may be taken, Moncrief," said Newall, with a shrug
of his shoulders, "that's enough. But as you have so much confidence in
him, you'd better question him about the Beetle."

"I was going to," answered Stanley, as, once more turning to Paul, he
asked: "One of the fellows saw you speaking to a Beetle yesterday. Is
that true?"

"Quite true."

"Shaking hands with him?"

"Yes."

Stanley groaned inwardly. He had hoped that it was a mistake--that his
cousin's eyes had deceived him, but there was no mistake. It was only
too true. He turned away, unable to hide the disappointment on his face.
Paul caught a glimpse of it in spite of the darkness, and was about to
speak, but Newall quickly interposed.

"There's another question which Moncrief's modesty prevents him from
asking," he said, with a sneer. "We've been given to understand that the
Beetle you shook hands with is the same Beetle who knocked Moncrief
about in the sand-pit. Is that true, too?"

Paul was silent, as though he still stood to the resolution he had made
not to answer Newall.

"Is it--is it?" demanded Stanley, turning swiftly round again, his tone
almost as fierce as Newall's had been.

"Yes; it is true." Then he added in a lower voice: "There are things I
can't explain. Will you meet me quietly, by yourself, just for a few
minut