with pleasure when he reflected that he had
achieved his ambition to stand between Scaife and Desmond. At the same
time, he was uncomfortably aware that Scaife seemed to have climbed
high above Desmond, who had stood still. In moments of depression John
told himself that he was a makeshift, that Desmond would leave him and
join the Demon whenever that splendid young person chose to whistle him
up. Scaife had failed to get his Football Flannels, but he came so
near to beating all previous records that the School began to regard
him as a "Blood." He was seen arm-in-arm with Lovell, strolling up and
down the High Street, and the fags breathlessly repeated what Desmond
had predicted a year ago: the Demon was the coming man. And always,
when John and Desmond passed him, John thought he could read a derisive
triumph upon the Demon's handsome face, an expression which said
plainly: "You young fool, don't you know that I'm playing cat and mouse
with you?"

The three still met twice daily to prepare work. But the moment that
was done, Scaife disappeared, leaving John and Desmond together.

"He's playing bridge in Lovell's room," said Desmond. More facts were
gleaned from the Caterpillar, who had joined the bridge-players, but
played seldom.

"One draws the line," said he, "at playing for stakes one can't afford
to lose. Lovell and the Demon have made it too hot."

"And Warde will make it hotter," said John.

"Not he," replied the Caterpillar. "The Demon is a wonder. Thanks to
his brains, detection is impossible. He suggested that Lovell's room
should be used. Warde wouldn't dare to burst in upon one of the Sixth.
And you ought to see their dodgy arrangements. Lovell has his young
brother on guard. I'm hanged if the Demon didn't invent a sort of
drill, which they go through with a stopwatch. It's a star
performance, I tell you. Young Lovell bolts in. In thirty-five
seconds--they have got it down to that--the cards and markers are
hidden; and the four of 'em are jawing away about footer."

"All the same," said John, obstinately, "Warde will be too much for
'em."

"Oh, rot!" said the Caterpillar.

The Manor got into the semi-finals of the football matches, and when
the School broke up for the Christmas holidays it was generally
conceded that the fortunes of the ancient house were mending. In the
Manor itself Warde's influence was hardly yet perceptible: only a very
few knew that it was diffusing itself,