n through
the dormitory window.

Then by the light of a candle I seized the missive from under my pillow
and tore it open.

A five-pound note fell out, and with it the following letter.

"You have made a nice mess of it, and ought to be happy. The least you
can do is to try to make things right for Tempest. Call round on the
following six tradesmen (giving the six names, one of which was Marple)
early to-morrow, and pay Tempest's bill at each, and bring home the
receipts. You needn't mention who sent you. Send the receipts to me,
and if Tempest asks any questions, tell him you paid the money by
request of a friend.

"W. Crofter."

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

I AM ADVISED TO LIE LOW.

My first impulse on reading Crofter's letter was to jump for joy. It
meant that Tempest would stay at Low Heath, and that I was to be allowed
to assist in keeping him there.

But my second thoughts were more of a surprise than pleasure. Crofter
was a mystery to me. His fellow-seniors disliked him, and warned me
against him. But, as far as I could see, he was not as bad as they made
him out, and certainly never said anything as bad about them as they
said about him.

What could be his object now if it was not a disinterested one? He
would be permanent captain of the house if Tempest left, and yet he was
doing the very thing that would keep Tempest at school. Tempest had
openly insulted him during the term, and yet here he was helping his
enemy out of a very tight place. I knew he was well off, so probably he
could afford the L5; but at the end of the term pocket-money was not a
plentiful commodity. He said nothing about being paid back, too; surely
he did not mean to make Tempest a free gift of this magnificent amount!
The more I thought it over the more I felt Crofter was a brick, and had
been scandalously misunderstood. He seemed to me a true type of the
virtuous man, who, when struck on one cheek, turns the other, and when
robbed of his coat offers his cloak too. I only hoped Tempest might
know what he owed him. In short, in the brief time it took me to dress,
I had worked myself up into a state of enthusiasm on the subject of
Crofter.

As to the mystery of Mr Marple's letter having got into the doctor's
hands, no doubt I had been careless and dropped the compromising
envelope, which some foolish but honest person (it did not occur to me
at the time it might have been Crofter himself) had picked up and
dropped