The Hero of Garside School

  CHAPTER XXXV

  A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY

  The improvement in the school's attitude to Paul did not last long. TheGarsiders who had come over to him with a swing, for some reason swungback with the same alacrity. The juniors who had cheered him to the echoin the dormitory now passed him without a word.

  Fortunately, Paul's mind was too much occupied just then with othermatters to take much notice of this change. First and foremost in histhoughts was Hibbert. Would he pull through? The progress he made wasvery slow--if, indeed, it could be called progress. One day he seemedstronger, the next found him as weak as before. A curious thing hadhappened on the afternoon Paul returned to the school after hisinterview with Wyndham. Mr. Weevil had sent for him to his room. Paulthought that it was to reprimand him for something or other. He wasagreeably surprised, therefore, when the master motioned him to a chair,and in a kindly voice, altogether unlike his "school voice," bade himsit down.

  "I understand that you've visited Hibbert once or twice," he began,regarding Paul through his half-closed eyes.

  "Now it's coming," thought Paul. "He's going to forbid me visitingHibbert." Then, aloud: "Yes, sir. I hope you've no objection."

  "I did object at first to visitors of any kind, because I thought itwould do the lad more harm than good. But I think the objection may bewithdrawn as far as you're concerned."

  Paul could scarcely believe his ears. Had he heard Mr. Weevil aright?

  "He seems to look forward eagerly to your visits, more than to thevisits of anybody"--a sigh, so slight as to be almost imperceptible,escaped the master's lips. "It would be cruel to debar the poor littlefellow from any pleasure we can give him. Therefore, Percival, I hopeyou will understand that you are quite at liberty to visit him when youfeel inclined."

  "It is very kind of you, sir, and I am deeply grateful."

  "You will be careful, of course, not to make your visits too long, ornot to unduly excite him."

  "Oh, yes, sir; I'll be careful of that."

  Paul rose to go, thinking the interview at an end. As he did so, themaster placed a hand upon his shoulder.

  "You have been very good to the boy--God will reward you! The fearsometimes oppresses me that he will not get over this illness."

  The half closed eyes were blinking in a curious fashion. Indeed, Paulsaw what was suspiciously like a tear slowly making its way down thecheek of the master. His emotion was no longer a mystery to Paul.Hibbert's revelation had thrown a light upon it. He now knew that theman whom he had regarded as without emotion--as one wrapped upcompletely in his equations and scientific formulae--had yet a deeplyhuman side. Hibbert was the son of his dead sister, and he lovedhim--loved him with a love that was a hundred times greater than thatwhich the boy's own father had ever bestowed on him. And Paul learnt alesson in that brief interview which he never forgot--that lying deepdown in the hearts of most men, sometimes overladen by rust, sometimesin the midst of decay, may frequently be found a vein of purest gold.

  "Don't say that, sir. He was looking better the last time I saw him. Hewill pull round as soon as he can get out a bit."

  "I hope your words will come true, Percival; but he's so frail. If hewere only strong like you--but there, it's useless talking. It must beas God wills." Then his voice changed to its old frigid tone.

  "You can go, sir."

  Thus abruptly dismissed, Paul went out.

  "Weevil's a puzzle," he said to himself. "I'm as far off knowing him asever I was; but there seems to be some warm blood in him, and that'ssomething. I thought he was all pothooks and hangers at one time; but hecan't be as bad as that. That shows you shouldn't go by appearances.He's not half as black as I painted him."

  Paul was very pleased that he could now visit Hibbert withoutrestriction, and that same night he visited him, much to the boy's joy,and sat by his bed, as we have seen, till he slept.

  Thus it was Paul took little heed of the school's attitude towards himfor the next few days. Then an incident happened which was to absorb hisattention still more. Thinking of Mr. Weevil, and his recent interview,his mind went naturally back to that evening when, devoured withcuriosity, he had followed him to Cranstead Common. The more he thoughtof it, the more he wondered what could have become of him on that nighthe had so strangely disappeared from view before his very eyes. Theground had not swallowed him up, for he had returned to school that samenight. What, then, was the meaning of it?

  Paul had promised himself that he would make an effort to find out; so,as he had heard nothing from Wyndham, he seized the first opportunitythat occurred to visit that part of the common where the master haddisappeared. He followed the trail which the master had pursued in thedirection of the river until he came to the thickly-wooded part wherethe trees, furze-bushes, brake, and bramble grew in wild profusion.

  This was the spot where he had lost sight of him. At first Paul couldsee nothing but the brambles. Examining the place more minutely, hefound the bushes curiously divided in the centre. Feeling beneath them,his hand came in contact with cold iron. It was a ring, attached to acircular piece of wood, rusty and moss-grown, so that in appearancethere was little to distinguish it from the undergrowth. He found littledifficulty in moving it.

  He thought at first that it would prove to be the entrance to a well,similar to the well in the ruins where he had hidden on the night he hadfled from Zuker; but to his amazement he discovered that it was nowell, but led to a sloping tunnel cut in the sandstone. That then wasthe place where the master had so suddenly disappeared. For whatpurpose? And where did it lead? It was impossible to tell withoutexploring it. Should he make the venture? Should he enter it?

  Paul hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment. The next he enteredthe tunnel, cautiously drawing over the lid which concealed it. Thepassage in which he found himself sloped downward, and was at firstscarcely large enough to allow him to walk upright. Little of lightpenetrated into it, and he had, therefore, to walk cautiously along,like a blind man, making sure of every step he took.

  Presently the path seemed to broaden. Extending his arms to their fullextent Paul could just feel the walls on either side. He proceeded stillmore slowly, straining his ears to catch the sound of footsteps. All wassilent. It was the silence of the tomb.

  "My stars, what a queer place! I wish I could only strike a light, so asto have a peep at it," thought Paul. "What can Mr. Weevil do down here?It isn't a cheerful place, even for a man who happens to be very much inlove with his own society."

  He came to a sudden pause. What was the use of exploring the tunnelfurther? He could see nothing, hear nothing. So where was the use ofgroping along in the darkness? It was folly, especially when he might beprecipitated at any moment into some hidden chasm. But folly though itmight be, Paul could not turn back. A mysterious voice within him seemedto be urging him on. If Mr. Weevil had passed along that tunnel insafety, why shouldn't he? It must have an outlet somewhere, and Paulgrew more and more curious to find out what that outlet could be.

  "I feel very much like an explorer in darkest Africa," he smiled tohimself. "Shall I be coming across an unknown lake presently, or a raceof pigmies? Hallo! What's that? Light at last."

  Light it was but of the faintest. It came with a faint streak into thetunnel. The darkness was only darkness before, but now fantastic shadowsseemed to menace Paul at every footstep he took. Feeble though thelight was, it was enough to show him that the tunnel had broadenedconsiderably. Stepping warily along, the light grew stronger at everystep, until he at length discovered that the path along which he was socautiously travelling led into a cave lit with oil-lamps.

  Then he came to a sudden pause again, and his heart beat wildly againsthis ribs, as he caught the sound of voices. The cave was not empty.There was some one inside. Who?

  As he approached nearer he saw that a curtain was partly drawn over theentrance. Paul knew that a false step might betray him.

  To lessen the risk of detection, therefore, he crawled on hands andkne
es to the curtain, and eagerly peered through the space nearest thewall.

  The cave looked quite warm and comfortable. A fire of anthracite, whichsent out plenty of heat but no smoke, burnt on a hearth cut out of thesandstone. Two or three lamps suspended from the roof diffused anOriental glow, while several warm bear-skin rugs were scattered over theground.

  A couple of guns and two or three cutlasses were hanging on the wall;and what was more astonishing to Paul, several maps and designs. Thenature of these it was impossible for him to ascertain. He furthernoticed that in one niche of the wall was a photographic camera. Inanother were ship models, in the third the models of torpedoes, engines,and machinery of various kind.

  Paul had taken all this in at a glance. He had not yet seen theoccupants of the cave, but there appeared from what he could hear, to beonly two. They were conversing in low tones at the far end, where thelights from the lamps dimly penetrated. After a while the conversationbecame more animated, and the two moved to a table at the centre.

  "I think we've succeeded in quieting suspicion," said the foremost ofthe two. As he spoke the light from the lamp fell full upon his face.

  It was Zuker, the German Jew!

  Paul's glance turned from him to the other man. It was Brockman, theburly ruffian who had seized the bridle of Falcon on the night of hisflight to Redmead--the ruffian who struck the blow which caused thegallant horse's death.

  "We've succeeded in calming suspicion for the time being," Zuker wassaying, "and that is a great point in our favour; but still we must movecautiously. A false step, and down would fall all my plans like a houseof cards. We've been very near discovery once or twice, the nearest waswhen that youngster got ahead of us with the packet. You remember?"

  "Remember! I'm never likely to forget it," said Brockman. "I could neverunderstand how it was the youngster slipped through my fingers."

  "Well, it doesn't matter so much as it has turned out, for thoseAdmiralty men--the Hansons--have gone to sleep again. They think thatdanger is passed, that Zuker, the man they so fear and dread, is out ofEngland."

  He chuckled softly to himself. Paul grew colder. He knew well enough theyoungster they were referring to, no one better, for it was himself. Itwas quite clear that the letter he had sent from the school to Mr.Moncrief had never reached him. A staggering suspicion flashed into hismind. He recalled that he had entrusted the posting of that letter toHibbert. Could it have been that Hibbert had failed him, or worse, couldit have been that Hibbert had deceived him? Was he not the son of Zuker?But the suspicion only dwelt in his mind for one brief moment, and hefelt indignant with himself that it had rested there so long.

  How could he doubt Hibbert, the one boy at Garside who had so clung tohim and who was at that moment lying on a bed of sickness?

  "Heaven forgive me!" he said to himself; then he caught the voices ofthe men as they again spoke, and listened eagerly.