THE BROKEN BOOTLACE
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?