THE MYSTIC ORDER OF BEETLES
To the bewilderment of Plunger and Moncrief minor they found themselves
in the grip of four figures, with masks somewhat after the fashion of
those worn by motorists. They had been taken so completely by surprise
that they made no attempt at resistance. If they had it would have been
useless, for their captors held them firmly by both arms, and rushed
them breathlessly across the field as far as possible from the roadway.
"St--stop it, will you?" Plunger at length found breath enough to
stammer. "Oh--oh!"
The last exclamation was caused by a sharp dig in the ribs, which
brought his question to an abrupt conclusion. Inspired by Plunger's
example, Harry thought that he might also venture on a question.
"Who--who are you? And--and--where are you taking us?"
An answer was conveyed to him in the same forcible manner in which it
had been conveyed to Plunger; but, though the dig in the ribs made him
gasp, it did not altogether silence him.
"Crawlers--wretched Beetles--that's what you are! Oh, oh, oh!"
A dig in the ribs from both sides effectually closed Harry's lips for
the time being, while the pace at which his captors took him along was
increased to such a rate that he could scarcely keep his feet. At length
they stopped before a barn, and the foremost of the four captors knocked
upon the door three times with his knuckles.
"Who's there?" came a voice from within.
"Four of the Brethren," answered the youth who had knocked.
"Are you alone?"
"No; we have brought two novices who are anxious to be introduced to the
mystic order."
Plunger began to prick up his ears. The mystic order? What mystic order?
And what were they going to do with them?
"Two novices who are anxious to be introduced to the mystic order?" came
the voice from within. "They wish to become brethren?"
"Yes."
"N--n--no!" came in a gasp from Plunger's lips; but another sharp dig in
his ribs reduced him once more to silence.
"Yes, most worthy K. O. P. They are dying to become brethren of the
noble band."
"I say, you unkind Beetles," began Harry. "Oh, oh!"
He was silenced by the same unfailing method which had just been brought
to bear upon his companion.
A short conversation took place between the masked figure who had acted
as spokesman and the person within. At the end of it the former turned
to his companions.
"Blindfold the novices. The Keeper of the Portal has commanded it."
Keeper of the Portal? That, then, was the meaning of the initials "K. O.
P." thought Plunger.
It was getting more and more mysterious, but he did not like the idea of
being blindfolded. What were they going to do with him--with Moncrief?
At first he felt inclined to resist, but a sharp twist of the wrist soon
convinced him that resistance was useless. Harry had come to the same
conclusion, so they submitted with the best grace they could to bandages
being placed round their eyes. Then they heard the door open and the
voice of the "Keeper of the Portal" commanding them to enter.
They entered. As they did so, Plunger thought he heard some one
sniggering, and again a wild idea crossed his mind that he would strike
out and make a desperate effort to escape from his captors; but the
instant he moved he was brought to a standstill by the energetic
measures which were now becoming painfully familiar to him.
The sniggering, if sniggering it was, soon ceased, and then a strange
silence reigned in the barn. The silence was a great deal worse to
Plunger than any amount of ridicule. Who were in the barn? What was
happening?
He strained his ears to the utmost. He could hear the sound of
mysterious footsteps walking stealthily to and fro, but no one spoke. He
stood there and shivered, though the perspiration was oozing from his
forehead. Was some desperate plot on foot against them? The footsteps
ceased. All was again so still that he began to think the barn had been
deserted and that he had been left in it blindfolded, to make his way
from it the best he could. He was about to call out to Harry when a
voice he had not yet heard called out sharply:
"Gargoyle with the eyebrows, what is thy name?"
Gargoyle with the eyebrows!
"S'pose that's meant for me," thought Plunger, "but I'm not going to
answer such impudent questions."
"The noble president speaketh. Answer, Gargoyle with the wiry thatch,"
came a voice in Plunger's ear, accompanied by a sharp kick on the shins.
Gargoyle with the eyebrows! Gargoyle with the wiry thatch! Was there
ever such insolence? But that kick on the shins told Plunger that to
raise any protest would only bring upon him worse punishment, so he
stammered out:
"Fre--Frederick Pl--Plunger."
"Plunger! Thy name is worse than thy face."
Plunger heard sniggers on every side at this reference to his name, of
which he had always been very proud.
"It's such an uncommon one, you know," he had often said to his cronies
at Garside. And now the wretched crew into whose hands he had fallen
were trying to make fun of it. He bubbled over with indignation, but
simmered down on hearing similar questions put to his companion in
misfortune.
He was aroused from these reflections by hearing the chief of the band
exclaim, in tones of command:
"Make fast the portal!"
He heard the sound as of a rusty bolt being thrust into its socket.
"I say, you chaps," he protested, beginning to feel alarmed again as he
heard this ominous sound, "I wish you'd stop your larks and take this
wretched thing from my eyes. If you'll just oblige me, I won't give you
away--I really won't."
"We're going to take the bandage from thy eyes, but first thou must
promise, on the banner of our Noble Order, to become a comrade and a
brother."
"I--I promise," stammered Plunger, anxious only to get the use of his
eyes again.
"Thou must promise also, by the same sacred emblem, never to reveal what
thou dost see."
"I--I promise."
The same questions were put to Harry, who was just as anxious as his
companion to see what was going on, and thought that no possible harm
could be done in following Plunger's lead. So he gave the same promises.
The bandages, however, were not immediately removed. The two boys could
hear the sound of footsteps moving round them, and voices chanting in
some unknown tongue what seemed to be a mysterious incantation.
"Remove the bandages," commanded the chief, when this curious
incantation, of which the two prisoners could make nothing, had ended.
At this command the bandages were removed. The scene that presented
itself to the astonished eyes of Plunger and Harry was one of the most
extraordinary they had ever witnessed. Their four captors seemed to have
disappeared. Standing around them in a circle were what appeared to be
eleven beetles standing erect on two legs, instead of crawling about on
four. On the breast of each was a letter, which, being white, stood out
prominently from the dark background, and gave to this singular circle a
still more singular appearance. The letters made up the following:
M. O. OF BEETLES.
in other words--The Mystic Order of Beetles.
Plunger rubbed his eyes. Was he awake or sleeping? He was wide enough
awake, but he could not at once grasp the situation. What did it all
mean?
The reader has doubtless made a better guess at what had happened than
Plunger. It was in this way. Mellor and Crick, the two boys who had
gained possession of the Garside flag, had found a good deal of
amusement at first in making surreptitious visits to the barn, and
dancing round their capture, but they soon began to long for something
more exciting. Truth to tell, the capture had not made the sensation in
the ranks of the enemy they had anticipated--so at least it seemed to
them. They had expected early reprisals, but none had come. So, after
they had performed a war-dance round the flag with their companions five
or six times, Mellor yearned for something more exciting. So did Crick.
So did the others.
"The Gargoyles don't seem to worry much about the flag after all," said
Mellor, thoughtfully wiping his brow, after the last of these spirited
exercises round the Garside standard.
"Not a bit. Seems to me they're only too glad to get rid of the wretched
thing," remarked Finch, one of the boys who had been envious of the
daring capture.
"Are they? That's all you know, Finch," retorted Mellor, angry that his
remark should be taken so literally. "If we could only see them, we
should find them tearing their hair and gnashing their teeth."
"Then why don't they come after their property and try to get it back
again?"
"Because they don't know for certain who's got it. They're lying low."
"Well, we'd better do the same. I can't see much fun in hopping round
the wretched rag. Why the Gargoyles should make so much of it I can't
make out."
"That's because you've never been at Garside. I dare say if we'd been
left a flag like that by an old school-fellow who had made a name for
himself, we should have been as proud of it as they are. It was worth
getting just to set those bounders back a bit. I should like to see you
do what Crick did, Finch!"
There were murmurs of approval at this, and Finch subsided into silence.
Nevertheless, when Mellor began to reflect, there seemed to be a good
deal of force in Finch's observation. There wasn't much fun, after all,
in hopping round "the wretched rag." So he thought of a way to improve
matters. Once or twice the idea had occurred to him of establishing a
society calling itself the "Mystic Order of Beetles," and using it for
the benefit of the rivals who had bestowed upon them so contemptuous a
title.
Directly he mentioned it to his companions it was hailed with
enthusiasm.
What could be better than making some of those wretched Gargoyles eat
humble pie under the very flag they were so proud of? So amongst them
they designed an appropriate costume for the "Mystic Order of Beetles,"
and the meeting-place and dressing-room were arranged in the barn.
So the society was started. Having started it, the next thing was to
capture some of the enemy. In order to accomplish this interesting
purpose, a band of scouts was established for the purpose of reporting
on the movements of the enemy at the first favourable opportunity. It so
happened that this was on the very day that Paul went to Wyndham to make
inquiries about the flag.
The scouts were rather disappointed when they found, from their post of
observation on the other side of the hedge, that the boy making his way
to St. Bede's was Percival. There had been already one trial of strength
with him which had not been entirely successful. Besides which Wyndham
had championed his cause, and they were bound to respect Wyndham's
opinion. Furthermore, the fame of Paul's heroism had reached St. Bede's,
as the reader has seen, and they had lost their former contempt for him.
They were therefore on the point of turning disconsolately away when
their eyes were gladdened by the sight of Plunger and Harry following
Paul.
Here were the prizes they had longed for. The enemy was delivered into
their hands.
So the scouts had carried off their prisoners to the barn, where their
comrades were waiting them. What followed we have seen.
Plunger and Harry looked on the extraordinary circle which surrounded
them in wonder. No word fell from the Beetles. They stood perfectly
still, as though enjoying the surprise which their extraordinary
appearance had created in the breast of their prisoners.
"I say, you are a rum lot!" Plunger at length burst out. "Mystic Order
of Beetles! Ha, ha!"
He burst into a wild fit of laughter, but his laughter was suddenly
checked by a resounding thud upon the shoulders. He then discovered that
the Beetles standing around him were armed with sheepskin bladders
attached to sticks. They did not hurt much, but the noise they made was
considerable.
"Silence! Thy mirth is unseemly," came from the chief of the circle, who
was no other than Mellor. "Remember, that thou hast been admitted to the
Mystic Order of Beetles, and hast promised by the sacred emblem above
thee to be true to the cause."
The sacred emblem above! The prisoners looked up. There was a flag
hanging from the roof of the barn--a tattered flag. Plunger rubbed his
eyes. Surely it was the old flag--the flag of Garside?
"Why--why--that's--that's----"
"Silence!"
The bladders came down in a perfect shower on Plunger's head and
shoulders. As for Harry, he could not speak. The sight of the flag had
smitten him dumb.
"Thou hast promised to be true to the cause," repeated the chief
solemnly. "Should'st thou ever dare to break the vow, thou wilt be
haunted for the rest of thy life--haunted sleeping and waking by the
Beetles thou hast betrayed! Describe the mystic circle."
Describe the mystic circle! What in the name of wonder was that? The
bladders descended upon Plunger as he stood in the centre of the ring
with his companion, wondering what was expected of him.
"I--I don't know any mystic circles," he stammered in despair.
"On hands and knees--quick!"
Plunger hastened to obey the command.
"Crawl round the mystic circle three times."
Plunger would have refused had he dared, but he dared not; so, amid a
good deal of suppressed laughter from the Beetles standing round him, he
crawled round the circle three times.
"Rise, brother!" commanded Mellor, when he had accomplished this feat.
Plunger gladly sprang to his feet.
"Give him the mystic tap."
Thwack--thwack came the bladders on Plunger's devoted head. And Plunger
almost regretted that he had risen. Harry went bravely through the same
ordeal. This accomplished, the Beetles joined hands, and galloping
wildly around the two boys, chanted:
"Beetles of the mystic band,
Wind we round thee, hand in hand;
Whene'er thou hear'st thy chieftain's call
Rest not, pause not, hither crawl;
Or to the realms of creepy-crawley,
Shivery-shaky, we will haul thee!"
As this incantation went on, Plunger and Harry had a lively time inside
the mystic circle. By the dexterous application of a knee or a shoulder,
Plunger would be sent with a run in one direction, while Harry would be
sent flying in another. They were whirled about from this side to that
like indiarubber balls. Then of a sudden they would find themselves
closely embracing each other in the centre of the ring, only to be
sundered again, and sent flying in another direction.
At length the "Brethren of the Mystic Order" stopped breathless, much to
the relief of Plunger and Harry.
"Keeper of the Portal conduct our newly-made brothers to the door."
The Keeper of the Portal, Crick, conducted them to the door.
"The time has come to say farewell--for the present," said Mellor, as
they all gathered round the door. "Don't forget that thou art pledged to
us by the bonds of our noble order. In token whereof, give them the
mystic wallop."
The bladders came down with a resounding thwack on the newly-made
brethren, during which the Keeper of the Portal opened the door. Plunger
and Harry darted through. Roars of laughter followed them, but they did
not look back. They did not pause till they were well on the road to
Garside.
"I say, Moncrief minor," said Plunger, drawing up breathless, "we've
dropped in for a fine thing."
The same idea had occurred to Harry, but he was not so ready to admit
it.
"How do you mean?"
"Why, we've joined hands with the enemy--the Beetles. There's no getting
out of it."
"I suppose there isn't," answered Harry gloomily.
They walked on in silence for a few moments. Then Harry glanced round,
as though half fearful that some one was following, and whispered:
"I say, Plunger."
"Well, what is it?"
"Did you notice the flag we were standing under?"
"The flag we were standing under?" repeated Plunger innocently. "Well,
not particularly. What was it like?"
"Like! I believe it was the school flag!"
"You don't say so. Never!"
"I'm positive it was."
"The school flag? This is awful! Couldn't you have let me know? What a
duffer you are! I would have sacrificed my life to get that flag! I
wouldn't have stood their nonsense like I did had I thought that was our
flag. I would have fought them till my last breath. Why--why didn't you
let me know?"
"I thought you did know."
"And to think that I crawled to them--crawled, with the flag of the old
school looking on. It's nothing to you--you're only a fresher from
Gaffer Quelch's; but to me, Plunger, it's--it's----" Not being able to
find a word strong enough to express his meaning, Plunger suddenly
turned on Harry again. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Moncrief
minor, letting me make such an ass of myself."
"How could I help it, Freddy. They made an ass of me too."
"There you go again, always poking your wretched self in. What does it
matter to you? You don't count at Garside. I do--that's the difference.
I wish you wouldn't look at these things from such a selfish point of
view. You're always thinking of yourself--a miserable fresher, as I've
said, from Gaffer Quelch's. If it ever gets about the school that I've
been made a Beetle under the Garside flag, what will the fellows think
of it? I shall never hear the last of it. I shall be roasted all round."
"And serve you right, too!" cried Harry, losing his temper. "A jolly
good roasting will do you good. It'll take some of the bounce out of
you. If it hadn't been for you, we shouldn't have got into this mess."
"What do you mean?" demanded Plunger hotly.
"It was all through playing the spy on Percival. If it hadn't been for
following him, those Beetles wouldn't have got hold of us."
"Come, that's good. Your cheek's superb. That's the only thing you seem
to have brought with you from Gaffer Quelch's. Who was it suggested we
should follow Percival? Was it me, I should like to know, or one of the
little prigs from Gaffer Quelch's?"
Harry could not immediately respond. He had forgotten for the moment
that the suggestion to follow Percival had come from him. But after a
moment's reflection he answered lamely:
"Yes; but it was you who caught sight of Percival as he was on the road
to St. Bede's and put the suggestion in my head."
"Well, of all the bosh----Oh, shut up, or put on a strait-waistcoat.
You're getting dangerous," said Plunger crushingly, seeing that he had
"scored."
Harry, indignant with himself, Plunger, and all the world, went on
ahead. But after a bit Plunger caught up to him.
"You needn't get into a wax because I set you right just now. I flatter
myself there aren't many chaps can score over me when I choose to set
about them. It's not your fault that you've got too much of Gaffer
Quelch's seminary for boys and girls about you. I had it for the first
term at Garside, but I soon grew out of it. And you'll grow out of it,
too. Fact is, Harry, neither of us is to blame for falling into the
hands of the Philistines--Beetles, I mean. Let's put the blame on the
right shoulders."
"And the right shoulders are----"
"Percival. It was through following him we fell into that beastly trap,
and it seems to me--though I don't like to say it--that Percival has a
good deal to answer for. What was he doing at St. Bede's? What was he
doing with that fellow, Wyndham, who knocked about your cousin so
unmercifully at the sand-pits? Did you notice what good terms they were
on--Wyndham with his arm tucked through Percival's."
Harry had seen it all, and as Plunger was speaking he recalled that
other scene he had striven so hard to forget--when he had seen Percival
and Wyndham together near the school. He had tried to put that from him,
especially since the heroism Percival had shown on the river. But now it
all came back with a rush. There was not the slightest doubt that
Percival and Wyndham were on terms of friendship. No one who had
witnessed the scene that he and Plunger had witnessed could question it.
What did it mean? There was something behind it all.
"Yes, I noticed it, Freddy," he slowly answered. "It puzzles me, and I
don't know what to make of it." Then looking up quickly, as though a
sudden suspicion had come to him, he blurted out: "I say, is it possible
that--that----No, I can't say it--it's too horrid."
"Out with it. There's no one to hear you but me. Remember, we're both in
the same boat."
"No one to hear me but you," said Harry, looking quickly round. "And I
shouldn't like anybody to hear but you; it's a horrid suspicion that
came into my mind just now. There must be something between Percival and
Wyndham, that's certain. I've tried not to believe it; but it's no use
trying to shut our eyes to facts. Can it be that Percival's plotting
against his own school, can it be that he is betraying us to the
enemy--those beastly Beetles?"
"Funny! Just the same thing's been running through my mind. Can it be
that he's betraying us to the enemy, and can it be"--here Plunger's
voice dropped to a whisper, as though he feared the very hedges might
overhear him--"that it was he who hauled down the school flag and handed
it over to the Beetles?"
"No, no; I can't believe that," cried Harry, clasping his hands over his
face, as though to blot out the suspicion.
"And I've been trying not to believe it, but what else are you to make
of it? A Beetle couldn't have got to the turret and taken the flag off
his own bat. There must have been some one helping him who knew all
about the school. If it wasn't Percival, who was it? What are we to
think after what we've seen?"
So it came about that while Percival had been doing his best to trace
out where the school flag had gone, so as to return it to its old place
of honour on the turret, the suspicion came into the minds of these two
boys that he was betraying the school.
Even at the moment that this suspicion was born, Paul was sitting by the
bedside of Hibbert, with the boy's hand in his. Hibbert had been
talking, but the tired eyes, which shone out so brightly from the wan
face, had begun to close. Yet the hand still held fast to Paul's. And as
Paul looked down lovingly on the face, he murmured to himself the words
he had spoken to Wyndham that afternoon--"The link between us kept me
strong when all Garside was against me."
And Paul had need of strength, for the battle had not yet ended.