Jack Symonds uttered a cry of amazement, and even Septimus was stirred out of his usual calm.
"Not there!" repeated Jack. "Old fellow, are you certain? Surely it's not gone already!"
Billy rose to his feet with a gesture of deep despair. "Look for yourself, then," he said. "It's no go, Jack—I made certain before I spoke. She's gone this time—and I expect gone for good."
"Don't say that, comrade!" urged Septimus, striking him on the shoulder. "We got it back once, so why not again? Look here, there's—"
"Wait!" Jack interrupted him. "Ten to one it's that oily brute Redisham! He had the thing in his pocket all the time we were speaking to him. Oh, he's cool and all that, but I'm going along to ask him right out what he's done with it! There!"
Septimus Patch pulled him back from the door. "No, no, Jack!" he pleaded. "We've got no evidence that he's taken it, and if you went along that way he'd just laugh in your face, that's what he'd do. It looks to me as if he did pinch the Star, but—well, we can't do anything to him; he's got the whip hand over us. We'll find another way, never fear."
"But what way is there?" objected Jack.
Patch did not reply, but stared out of the window in deep thought. His eyes were narrowed to mere slits behind his great tortoise-shell glasses. He rubbed his hands together nervously.
"Give me time—give me time," he asked. "There must be a better way—let me think."
"And we're giving the beggar more time to hide it," said Billy Faraday.
"If he took it," said Septimus.
"What do you mean?"
"Why, just this. He must have been tremendously slick to have found the hiding-place, secured the Star, and replaced everything as before! How long could he have been in the room? Not long. Yet he had the nerve to do all that, knowing that we might be back any minute. Besides, why hadn't he gone when we arrived?"
"Why?"
"Seems to me he was just spying round. You remember he was standing in front of our lockers. Supposing that he had found the Star where we hid it. Would he be likely to hang round until we came? You can bet your life he'd be off in a moment! Again, why replace the carpet and the board? It only took longer, and delay was most dangerous for Redisham. Put yourself in his place. If you'd found the Star, wouldn't you have bolted right away? There'd be no sense in fixing up the carpet—your big idea would be to make yourself scarce, see?"
"So you think the Star went before Redisham came here?"
"I think so, comrade. Perhaps it went last night, and, if so, we know who took it!"
"Doctor Daw," murmured Jack.
"Of course, Monty Redisham is up to some dirty game or other. Quite likely he's in Daw's debt, and Daw is using him as a tool. But if we go to Redisham, and let him know we've suspected him to that extent, and that we've been robbed, then he'll tell Daw everything."
"But what are we going to do about it?"
"Lie low. Redisham can wait—I've got a scheme for fixing him later, getting him into a trap. But Daw's got to be watched—and watched closely."
"Well?"
The schoolboy detective looked thoughtful. Then he spoke with assurance. "Look here, comrades—Hullo, here's Fane!"
"What's the matter?" asked Fane immediately.
Patch explained, and then went on: "I was just going to suggest a scheme. Jack heard Daw say that he wanted to stay on here at Deepwater. Therefore, he's not likely to bolt with the Star, if he's got it. We'll watch him, see where he goes, and while he's out one of us can ransack his room. Probably, though, he has the Star on his person, and he'll be anxious to get it across to Lazare or Humbolt. As soon as he does that, we can have either of them arrested quietly, before they have time to get far!"
"Otherwise?" queried Jack.
"Otherwise," said Patch quietly, "we'll have to go to the Head, tell all we know, and trust to luck that we'll be able to outwit the brutes! But you know how clumsy that notion is—the Head would almost want written confessions and affidavits before he'd venture to arrest a master! And Daw would swear black, blue and all colours that he'd never seen the Star, and didn't want to. You see how hard it would be for us to do anything?"
Accordingly a close watch was kept by one of the four pals on Doctor Daw; but they had to admit that the man was a wonderfully good actor, for he showed no signs of confusion or excitement, and remained indoors for the greater part of the time. For two nights he did not go out.
One of these nights, however uneventful for Doctor Daw, was certainly crammed with incident for Redisham. Patch had promised that he would catch the greasy senior in a trap, and he held good his word. The society of the Crees proved to be the instrument of his downfall.
During preparation one evening, Redisham was surprised by a knock on his study door. Hastily extinguishing his cigarette, which, in flagrant defiance of all rules, he was smoking, he called out, "Come in!"
A very small and innocent junior entered.
"Please, Redisham," he said, "Mr. Daw said he wants to see you outside the Chemistry classroom door at once."
"What's that? Doctor—I mean Mr. Daw wants to see me now. Isn't he taking prep. in Big School?"
"Well, he is, but he stepped outside for a few minutes, and sent me up to find you. I think he only wants you for a moment."
"Confound him!" muttered Redisham, putting on his cap. "All right, youngster—cut away."
The senior lumbered down the stairs, a big, awkward figure that moved clumsily. It was nearly dark outside, but he distinguished the form of Mr. Daw outside the chemistry-room.
As he approached, the master slipped into the porch, and beckoned Redisham to follow.
"Come in here," he whispered. Inside, it was darker than ever. "Well," the master pursued, "and did you find it?"
Redisham shook his head. "No luck," he grumbled.
"Did you look?" said Daw cuttingly.
"Yes, I did! Honestly, I didn't have much time, but I looked hard enough. The young blighters came back and found me in the room at that!"
"All right. But see me behind the gymnasium after lights-out, to-night. I've found something—I want you."
Redisham uttered a grumbling protest. "I say, it's confoundedly risky to be strolling round after lights-out. You've always got me doing it now, and I'll be getting into trouble."
The master uttered a short laugh. "You'll be there, anyhow! And now I've got to get back to preparation."
They parted; but Redisham would have been considerably startled to have watched the master, who did not go back to Big School, but who joined Symonds and Patch at the side of the chemistry-room, and shook with laughter. Also, as all the juniors of Salmon's house could have informed Redisham, Mr. Daw had undoubtedly been in Big School all the evening, in charge of preparation. Two facts that might have caused him some perturbation, had he been aware of them.
As it was, he walked into the trap laid for him as guilelessly as a snared chicken. He strolled round after lights-out to the side of the gymnasium, as directed by the bogus Doctor Daw, and waited, kicking his heels for a good five minutes.
"The man's a thundering nuisance!" groaned the unfortunate senior, looking round him. "Gee! What's that?"
His ejaculation had been drawn forth by the sight of a couple of men who, dimly visible in the half-light, had appeared round the end of the gymnasium.
Redisham wheeled round with a dismayed gasp, and prepared for flight. But he remained where he was, rooted to the ground with horror. About five similar dark forms had appeared quite silently behind him, and now confronted him evilly. With a shock of dismay he perceived that they wore black masks, and had their collars turned up about their ears.
"What—what d-do you w-want?" he said in a remarkably husky voice that somehow would not obey him. Redisham was a bit of a diplomat at times, but he had no physical courage. All his strength seemed to have left his legs, and he shook like a leaf in a gale.
"Shurrup!" came the low retort in ruffianly tones, from the foremost of the ugly-looking band. "Stow the lingo, or we'll throttle you! You one of the school kids, hey?"
"Y-yes."
The miserable Redisham heard footsteps behind him, and knew that the other two were close. He wished with all his heart that Daw would arrive. He would have been a good deal less hopeful had he known that Daw was, at that moment, asleep in bed. Suddenly he was bowled over by his cowardly assailants, and gagged.
In approved bandit style he was trussed hand and foot, and a bandage was finally tied over his eyes, completely excluding everything from his sight. He groaned. What on earth had happened? He was being carried by two of the men over rough country, and presently he lost count of their steps. They went miles and miles, as it seemed; his heart descended into his boots. He could already see himself tied up in a sack and thrown into a lonely part of the river.
Suddenly the journey ended. As a matter of fact, he had been carried five times round the playing-fields, with suitable changes of ground, and the Crees had taken it in turns to lug him about, for he was of no mean weight. They now entered Salmon's and on tiptoe brought their prisoner into the boot-room.
Flat on the floor Redisham was laid, and the bandage was removed from his eyes. An oil lamp guttered above his head, throwing a faint, uncertain light that wavered to and fro, making everything indistinct. Before him sat the most fearsome figure of the lot—a short, thick man in a sweater and wearing a beard, who held a revolver in his hand—a wicked-looking thing that sent a frightened shiver down the senior's back. In point of fact, this was Billy's weapon, which he had brought out of its concealment for the purpose; undeniably it gave a touch of colour to the scene.
It was, as a matter of cold fact, unloaded; but Redisham in the depths of his funk could not know that. He lay and stared up at it goggle-eyed.
"Now," said the leader of the gang of roughs, "you're miles away from anyone here, so it's no use yelling. Get me? Take his mufflers off, Snyder."
The man addressed as Snyder elevated himself out of the gloom and came slowly forward. He undid the bandages that held Redisham in durance, and the fear-stricken senior sat up, chafing his legs.
"See here, younker!" It was the awesome chief speaking again. "Are your people worth much?"
"I—what do you mean?" spluttered Redisham.
"I means what I says!" said the fellow, in a low voice of concentrated fury. "Answer up, an' look slippy, or perhaps my finger'll slip on this 'ere trigger, and—"
"Please d-don't shoot!" quavered Redisham. "Do you mean have my people got much money?"
"Yes—have they?"
"Not very much—really."
"Crab apples!" cried the ferocious leader, angrily. "How much would they hand out to get you back, you miserable worm?"
"To g-get me back?"
"To buy you back! Shiver my timbers, but you've got more talk than a Madras monkey. How much ransom, hey? Five hundred?"
"I don't think so. Why, are you g-going—"
"Yes, my hearty, we're going to hold you to ransom!" came the disconcerting answer. "Is the figure five hundred?"
"But that's to-too much," shivered Redisham, squirming on the floor beneath the menace of the revolver, which the chief held in almost playful fashion four inches from his left eye.
"Too much! I should say it was too much!" rejoined the other, with promptness. "Five hundred for a bit of a puppy like you! Why, I'd not give five hundred pence! I'd throw the main deck overboard before I'd think of it! Wouldn't I?" he asked.
"I'm sure you would," said Redisham hurriedly.
"I expect your parents'll be downright glad to get rid of you, hey?"
"I—I suppose so."
"Well, belay my scuppers, if they don't part up with the boodle you'll be shipped to South America, that's all!"
"S—south America?"
"South America I said! They buy men for ten pounds apiece, to work 'em in the copper-mines. Think of it, hey! Workin' there year in, year out, and never see this place any more! Lovely prospect, ain't it? Like the idea?"
"N—no," said Redisham, to whom the idea did not appeal in the remotest way.
"Gr-r-rr! Of course you don't! But if your old man don't pay up, well—we'll have to get our tenner from you. Won't we, Snyder?"
"Sure," said Snyder. "But we'd only get eight for this goat—he's all flabby, no muscle, no chest, no nothink! Jest skin an' bone, that's all he is! Feel him!"
He did so, with his boot.
"That's so," agreed the chief. "He's just the spit of that bloke we shipped last summer—the bloke that pegged out on the voyage. Remember?"
"You bet," answered Snyder tersely. "They had to sling him overboard, and the sharks got the captain's tenner-worth! Just as well we got the money first, hey, mates?"
The mates all responded with a low, sinister laugh that made Redisham's blood run cold.
"See here," he pleaded. "Let me g-go!"
"Gr-r-rr!" snarled the chief. "Let you go! Likely, ain't it? Now, you stay here while we go upstairs and write a little note to your old man. You can add something that'll make them hurry up with the tin!"
"Or it's the South American mines for you!" grated Snyder, approaching his face closely to Redisham's.
"And no funny business," added the chief warningly, taking the lamp and looking back as he closed the door. "You stay here like a good kid, an' remember it's no use singing out. Mind you're here when we come back or—"
He touched the butt of his revolver significantly, and closed the door. Dense darkness shut down on the miserable Redisham.
When he had waited twenty minutes in the same position, he was under the impression that he had waited several hours. He had never experienced anything like the dead, changeless silence that now reigned. For what seemed an age there was no sound—not even the smallest sound. And then, feeling that he would scream out if he did not do something, he commenced to explore his surroundings. He collided with an immense table, on which were piled boots—in incredible quantities. He could make nothing of this mystery. At every stage it became more and more weird. Boots! What could that mean? He was still wondering when he barged into something solid, and it went over with an ear-splitting crash. For some seconds there was silence. Then came footsteps; the door opened.
"I wasn't trying to get out!" he protested feebly; and then his jaw fell. The figure before him was Mr. Glenister, of Salmon's, and the young master was carrying a candle!