Cummles stood back from his antagonist, a twisted grin of triumph on his face, and, in the tense silence that followed, the loud and fast sound of his breathing could be distinctly heard.
And then, all the horror of the Crees found voice, and they exclaimed together:
"Foul—it's a foul!"
"Scrag the dirty fouler!"
The ring pressed round about Cummles with angry cries, for the bully had offended all rules of fair play by his action in striking Fane when that youngster had lowered his hands. For a moment Cummles thought that he was to be mobbed, and he drew back on the defensive; then Fane slowly rose from the ground.
"Stand back," said Fane, "this is my job—let me finish it!"
With the words he again attacked the bully furiously. His blows were hard and fast, but he did not lose his head. Grimly Cummles strove to turn the tide, to repeat that one tremendous blow; but always Fane was just a little too quick for him.
Finally Cummles came to the end of his resources, and bitterly bitter though the admission was to him, he had to grant that he was beaten. Thoroughly exhausted, and much damaged by Fane's blows, he dropped his hands.
"Good enough," he mumbled through swollen lips. "I'm done—hold off."
Then for the first time Fane smiled; and like a cloak, his old nervous manner fell about him once more.
"You'll shake hands?" he asked. "Yes?"
Cummles shook the proffered hand grumpily, for he could not easily forgive the fellow who had lowered his colours so decisively in the presence of his fellow-Crees. Then, pulling on his coat, he left the circle without another word, followed by two or three of his intimate cronies, who even now would not desert him.
"Well done, Fane," said Jack Symonds, patting the New Zealander on the shoulder. "That's just what Cummles has been looking for for months. Now, you fellows," he went on, turning to the Crees, who stood round murmuring congratulations, "I propose that Fane here and his friend Patch be made members of the society. For one thing, Fane is a jolly useful member, and—"
"Hear, hear!" they interrupted him.
"And what about Symonds for Chief Cree?" demanded another of them in a loud voice.
The reply was a burst of cheering, and Jack was duly elected. Amid much excitement, he was presented with the Eagle feather, the emblem of office that the founder of the Crees had left behind him when he had left Deepwater College. Jack put it in his pocket, and then turned to the business of getting the two new Crees elected to the band.
They were unanimously elected, and the four occupants of Study 9 that evening were fast friends. Even Patch was allowed to hang one or two more of his scientific diagrams on the walls, and to place his bottles and apparatus along the top of his cupboard.
In the middle of the night Fane awoke with a slight groan, and felt his face with tender touch. His right cheek-bone, where Cummles had landed a hit during their fight, was painful; the skin had been taken off, and now the wound was a hot, throbbing graze that worried him.
He turned over and over again, but found sleep impossible. The wound was worrying him too much.
"I've got some ointment," he murmured, "and that might cool it off a bit. But the stuff's down in the study, worse luck."
He bore the pain in silence for a few minutes longer, and then determined to go down to the study for the ointment. Silently he got out of bed, and left the sleeping dormitory behind him. The great corridors were cold and deserted, but, hurrying downstairs in his bare feet, he quickly arrived at Study 9. Then he threw open the door.
"Jiminy!" he gasped, involuntarily.
The study was in darkness but for a flood of light that streamed in a definite band from the end of what was evidently an electric torch. And the cupboards were open, and their contents partly emptied on the floor.
"What—who are you?" he demanded, as the glow of the torch fell upon a big figure in a pulled-down cap and a scarf that hid the lower part of the face. The bright eyes above the scarf challenged his, and for a moment they stood face to face, both held immovable in surprise. Fane realized at once that the man he had surprised was a burglar.
He flung himself without the slightest warning upon the intruder. No fellow at Deepwater College ever had more lion-like courage than Fane. The man bulked much bigger than himself, but the bully-killer sprang forward with all the vim of an attacking bulldog.
Swift and unexpected as was his move, the burglar was a fraction swifter. The torch went out silently, and it was as if a velvet curtain had fallen before Fane's eyes. The man must have twisted aside with lightning celerity, for Fane could not touch him. For a moment there was silence, each listening for the other. Then a large black shape blotted out the pale square of the window, and the boy realized that the burglar was escaping.
He ran forward, but fell over some invisible object on the floor. When he had picked himself up, he heard the thud of the intruder's feet alighting on the garden-beds outside, and the quick following sound of rapid footsteps. The man had got away!
Fane knew that pursuit was out of the question. He had no hope of following with success; and he wondered now whether the next step would be to inform the masters of what had occurred. On second thoughts he determined to consult with his pals, and returning to the dormitory he awoke Jack and Patch, and together they went to the bed where Billy Faraday lay asleep.
"Billy!" said Jack, shaking his chum by the shoulder.
"Look out—the Black Star!" said Billy. "The Black Star—take care of it!"
"What on earth?" said Jack. "The beggar's talking in his sleep. Black star? What does he mean?" He shook the sleeping Billy again. "Here, you old sleeping beauty, arise! Come up!"
"Hullo!" There was surprise and alarm in Billy's tone. "What—? Oh, I remember—I've been dreaming. I thought you were—"
He stopped and rubbed his eyes. "What's the matter, anyway?"
"Come out here, old chap."
When they got out in the corridor, Jack Symonds explained. "Fane here was going down for a rub of ointment for his eye, and when he got in the study there was a burglar. Here, where are you going?"
Billy Faraday did not answer. He had gasped with alarm at Jack's words, and set off at a rapid pace down the corridor. The others followed him at a run, and when they entered the study found him on his knees in front of his cupboard examining a small black cash-box, which he clicked open, peered inside, and then, with a sigh of relief, closed it again.
"Nothing gone?" demanded Jack. "Not even the Black Star?"
"Black star!" Billy whispered, looking at Jack as if he had seen a ghost. "What—what do you know about—"
"It's all right, Billy—only a joke of mine."
"But—a joke?"
"Yes. When we went to wake you up just now you were having a nightmare, or something, and you were jabbering about a black star. Something about taking care of it."
Billy was silent. Then he turned to his study-mates earnestly. "See here, you fellows," he said quietly, "we're all pals now, and I think we can keep a secret together. You heard me talking in my sleep about the Black Star, and perhaps you thought that it was only a nightmare, or something I'd read in a book. It isn't. It's something real—there is a Black Star, and here it is."
He opened the cash-box, and held out a small bundle wrapped in tissue-paper. Jack removed the wrappings, and held the object so revealed in the palm of his hand. There were exclamations of surprise from all three.
"By Jove!" said Patch in admiration.
In Jack's hand lay a black stone as big as the top of a tea-cup. It was beautifully smooth, polished to the last degree, and had a sort of opalescent fire that made it wonderfully beautiful in the lamp-light. It was shaped as a six-cornered star, and as the light played on it it seemed veritably alive, almost appearing to wriggle in Jack's palm.
"That's the Black Star," said Billy Faraday.
"And that," said Septimus Patch thoughtfully, "is, I suppose, what the burglar was after. Am I right?"
"Perfectly right. Only that Fane here arrived in time to interrupt his search, the fellow must have collared the Black Star."
"But the Black Star—what is it?" asked Fane. "Something very valuable? Why should the fellow be so anxious to get it?"
"And that's another thing," put in Jack Symonds excitedly. "When that man on the train tried to collar your bag, was he after the Black Star?"
Billy frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know that," he replied. "Perhaps he knew what was in my bag—or perhaps he was just a casual thief. Anyway, I made sure of getting the thing back, didn't I?"
"You did! You couldn't have run faster from a man-eating lion. Still, old chap, what is the giddy mystery about this Black Star? There's more in it than meets the eye."
"I was just coming to that. It's rather a long story, but I'll cut it as short as I can. You know, my father, who just died, was a great naturalist, and he was deeply interested in Central Australia. He had made a special study of the natural history of those parts, and was considered the expert on all matters belonging to them.
"On one of his trips into the interior he discovered a little-known tribe of blacks. It seems that these niggers were of quite a superior brand, and they had a sort of civilization of their own, quite different from the low-down natives that travellers run across. They keep much to themselves, and it was only by the purest accident that the pater ran into them.
"He stayed with them for a long time. There were plenty of things to be inquired into, and with their assistance he added to his scientific knowledge. For their part, they got to like him very much; in fact, they wanted him to stay with them and be their chief. They even went so far as giving him the sacred emblem of the tribe, which is, of course, this Black Star. The possessor of this Star is all-powerful among the natives of the Boonadilla tribe. He can have his slightest wishes obeyed, and they handed my father a very great compliment when they gave him this. Of course, he accepted it, and brought it back to Melbourne with him, but he had no intention of going back and lording it over the tribe. All that he intended doing was to show it round among his scientific friends, partly as proof that the Boonadilla tribe existed. That was all that was in his head at the time; and he meant to send it back, or take it back himself on his next trip into the interior.
"But, as you know, there was to be no 'next trip.' The pater died, but before he went he told me certain things about the Black Star. It seems that one of his men on the trip got to know about it, and, being a cunning sort of fellow, got the idea of taking the Star and getting back to the Boonadilla people with it. The reason was, of course, that he was going to get something out of it; and my pater told me that the tribe had lots of alluvial gold that they'd collected around the spot where they lived. They'd no idea of the value of the gold, and a clever man would be able to influence them with the Black Star, so that it would not be difficult to get away with the metal.
"This man Lazare—some sort of a foreigner, I believe—had been at the pater for a loan of the Black Star; but the pater knew too much of him for that. He knew that if he lent it to Lazare, the probability was that he would not see the thing again. So he refused. He told me that I was to be careful not to let Lazare get hold of it, for he handed it over to my keeping just before he—died. His instructions were that I should take it to his old friend Mason, the geologist, who lives in Sydney.
"Before I left Melbourne to come back to school I wrote to Mason, but I got an answer back to say that he was away on a trip, and would not be back for four or five months. What was I to do? The only thing was to take it back to school with me. This I decided to do; and I also brought back a revolver of the pater's, which came in very handy, as Jack can tell you. You don't want to let a word of this out, for there'd be no end of a row if I was found out. Before I left, Lazare himself came to see me, and asked me directly for the Black Star. He said that there had been an understanding between the pater and himself that he should take it back to the tribe. He was plausible, too, I can tell you. Only that I'd been warned against the fellow, I'd have fallen for his game like a shot. As it was, he didn't get it, and I believe that he's been watching me like a cat watching a mouse ever since I refused. Mind, he didn't threaten anything—he's too clever for that. He was very polite, and said that it was a pity that I was so obstinate, and that he would not worry any more about it. He remarked that he had been merely carrying out the pater's orders, and that, since I opposed him, he considered himself free of any obligation. He said good-bye, and went away—implying that I was a silly young fool, of course. Now, I'm pretty certain that this was Lazare here this evening. He must have watched me closely, and possibly that was one of his men who snatched my bag on the train."
"By Jingo!" said Jack Symonds, "but we're going to have a lively term this time or I'm a Dutchman! What?"
"Comrade," said Patch, in his grand manner, extending his hand, "I appreciate your confidence in me—believe me, I shall do all that I can to help. You have heard, no doubt, that I am by way of being an amateur detective? No? You surprise me. I want everything left here just as it is. I may be able to find out something of the identity of the burglar. This is no joke. Wait until the morning and then I'll get to work."
"Well," said Fane practically, "we can't do anything by waiting here—besides, there's a chance that we'll be caught out of our dormy. Are you going to report the affair to the Head?"
"I think not. I don't want to have to explain everything, and, besides, no harm's been done. I'll take the Star up with me—I'll put it under my pillow for to-night. I had no idea that the attempt would be made so soon—else I wouldn't have left it in the cupboard. You never know your luck."
As they went back to the dormitory Fane and Septimus Patch could be heard planning to get down to the study early in the morning—before call-bell—and to make an investigation. Jack smiled, for he thought that the amateur detective was a bit of a joke.
"It's a biscuit to a fiver that you'll both be fast asleep when call-bell goes," he observed, with a yawn. "I'm feeling that way myself."
However, when morning came and Jack Symonds and Billy Faraday awoke, they found that the two beds occupied by Fane and Patch were empty.
"Here, Billy," said Jack, "we've time to run down before call-over and see what that beggar Patch's found out."
"Right!" The two of them hurried downstairs, and discovered Patch and Fane busily examining the turf outside the window of Study 9. Patch, with excited eyes, was pointing out various things on the ground; as the two pals came along he glanced smilingly up.
"Hullo!" said Billy. "Looking for the early worm?"
"Found it," said Patch confidently.
"What do you mean?"
"I've found that the burglar is really somebody belonging to the school!"
"Get out! How do you know that?"
"Deduction," said Patch. "The clue of the broken bootlace."
"Broken bootlace," repeated Billy Faraday in bewilderment. "What on earth do you mean by that?"
"I refer to a clue, comrade—and a valuable one at that. It means just this. You see these two footprints here, just where the burglar landed out of the window? And those further along, which are also his, for a certainty?"
"Yes—go on."
"Well, I—hang it, there goes the second bell, and we'll have to scoot. I'll explain it all after morning-school."
And with that promise the mystified pals had to be content. Had Patch actually found out something worth while, or was the whole thing merely a false alarm?