t somebody of that name during last vacation, so I suppose it must
have been the same," he answered, with pretended indifference; "but he
wasn't wearing a beard. It's a good disguise. What's he afraid of?"

"Well, he's obliged to. I'm telling you this as a secret, and I know I
can trust you not to repeat it. My father's an agent of one of the
foreign Governments, and he's obliged to put on a disguise sometimes to
get information."

"But what information does he want to get that makes him wear
disguises?"

"I never could quite make out, but I know it's to do with secret
service. He once told me that every Government has secret service.
That's all I ever knew."

He seemed to have an uneasy suspicion that his father's profession was
not a very honourable one, for his head sunk to his breast.

"Is your father a friend of the master's--Mr. Weevil, I mean?"

"Well, yes--more than a friend; but it's another secret I don't want to
get about the school. Mr. Weevil would be very angry if it did, so you
must promise me not to repeat it."

And Paul, scarcely knowing all his promise meant, promised him. Then the
boy leant very close to him and whispered: "Mr. Weevil's my uncle."

This information was almost as startling and unexpected as the
information that had preceded it. As it fell from Hibbert's lips, Paul
almost feared that the door would open and Mr. Weevil would walk in,
just as he had walked in before.

"Your uncle!" he repeated.

"Well, it's this way, you see. My mother was English. She was the only
sister of Mr. Weevil. I know he was very fond of her, for I've heard
mother say that he was a good brother, and that she was the only one for
whom he had a greater love than he had for science. My father first met
her when he used to give lessons in German and French--he knows three or
four languages--at the school where Mr. Weevil was master before he came
here. I think my father was then what they call a refugee. My mother
died three years ago; then I went to Heidelberg again, and last of all I
came here. You remember the day--at the opening of the term."

Remember the day! Paul was never likely to forget it. He remembered
every incident in connection with it--Hibbert coming to him in the
grounds, the insult put upon him by Newall, and the other incidents that
followed.

"I remember," he said gravely.

The door opened as he spoke, and Mrs. Trounce entered.

"What, sitting up!" she cried, for Hibbert was still