sat at the head of the table, while Harry gulped down huge mouthfuls of
bread and butter, at the same time pouring forth an excited account of
the match, describing with great animation Herbert's big hits, Smith's
sensational catch, and the magnificent manner in which Vincent had kept
wicket. Mrs. Arden smiled and nodded, but it was perhaps excusable if
her mind wandered, and she mixed some points in her nephew's narrative.
To her the Cock-house Cup was but a silver vase. She knew none of the
traditions which belonged to it, the long story of gallant and
honourable warfare told by the names engraved upon its side; and though
she was aware of the fact that each summer term one house gained the
cricket challenge trophy, yet it did not seem of vital importance to her
whether it went to Conway's or Morgan's. She was, however, pleased with
Harry's enthusiasm, and anxious for him to grow up a thorough
Englishman, and, therefore, she tried to sympathize with him in the
interest which he took in the great national sport, and made up for her
lack of knowledge by being a ready listener when the boy came home with
tales of the playing-field.
Meanwhile, Buckle had changed his boots, found his coat, and started
off to return to Conway's, bearing the oak case in triumph, and
surrounded by a small group of wearers of the green and orange cap. As
they turned into the road a pebble clattered past them.
"Swindle!" yelled a shrill voice, and a youth with a red and black band
to his "straw" disappeared quickly round a neighbouring corner.
"Some young beast of Morgan's," growled an indignant Conwayite. "They've
all gone home in a sulk. Precious poor sportsmen, I call 'em. All
because Bell gave that chap 'run out' in our match against them, and
they said he wasn't."
"He was out right enough," said Buckle. "Of course, I couldn't see from
where I was standing, but Vincent told me the beggar's bat never came
within a yard of the crease; and Vincent isn't the sort of chap to tell
a lie for the sake of a wicket. He always plays the game."
"Well, Morgan's have made up their minds that we swindled them out of
that cup," said another. "They've got a grudge against us. They were all
hoping that we should be beaten to-day, and they're jolly sick that we
aren't."
"Let 'em be!" retorted the sturdy long-stop. "One thing I know; we've
got the cup, and they'll have to wait a whole twelvemonth before they
can take it away from us again."
"They might come over and steal it!" said a rather shallow-brained small
boy vaguely, for which remark he was promptly smacked on the head, and
the conversation terminated.
Buckle took the case to the house-master's study, and deposited it on
the end of the writing-table. The boy would have liked to have another
look at the trophy, but Herbert had the key of the box, and Mr. Conway
himself was out spending the evening.
The following morning at breakfast the master referred to the recent
victory, and congratulated the cricket team on having won such
distinction for the house.
"By the way," he said in conclusion, "while the cup remains with us
(which I hope may be for many seasons to come), I think it may as well
stand here on the sideboard with our other trophies. Will you fetch it
from my study, Vincent?"
The boy named rose from his place at the prefect's table and left the
room, reappearing again two minutes later with the oak case in his hand.
"It's locked, sir," he remarked.
"Who has the key?"
"Here it is, sir," said Herbert, producing it from his waistcoat pocket.
At each of the four tables the boys had paused in their eating and
drinking, and were waiting in silence for another sight of the famous
trophy. Mr. Conway turned the key and opened the box.
_It was empty!_
For a moment the incident seemed rather more comic than serious. It
appeared a sort of first of April joke, and a ripple of laughter went
round the room.
"How's this?" said Mr. Conway with a slight indication of annoyance in
his tone. "Where is the cup?"
The members of the cricket team stared at one another in silent
astonishment.
"Where is the cup?" repeated Mr. Conway. "Who brought it back from the
field yesterday?"
"I did, sir," answered Buckle. "I put it in your study."
"Did you make sure the cup was in the case before you started?"
"Yes, sir; I saw Herbert lock it in the case, and he's had the key ever
since."
"Did you leave the case about anywhere?"
"No, sir; I brought it straight home, and put it on your table."
"Do you know anything about it, Herbert?"
"No, sir," answered the cricket captain, whose face was as long as a
fiddle. "I locked the cup in the case, and gave it to Buckle; and I
only just remembered that the key was still in my pocket."
"Well, this is most extraordinary!" said Mr. Conway blankly. "It sounds
like one of those tricks shown by Maskelyne and Cook. You must be
mistaken, Herbert. This must be inquired into at once."
A few minutes later an excited crowd surged out of the dining-hall.
Every one was talking at once, the result being a perfect babel of
sound. The Cock-house Cup was missing; by some extraordinary means it
had been spirited away from its rightful owners. In the whole history of
Hadbury College such a thing had never been heard of before.
Each boy had a different opinion to offer: one thought that Herbert or
Buckle must have left it behind on the ground; another believed a
burglary had been committed; while a third made the somewhat rash
assertion that the Morganites might have collared it out of spite,
though how this could have been done he was not prepared to explain.
A few of the seniors did not doubt that the cup would be found somewhere
in the house-master's study, but a careful search afforded no further
clue towards a solution of the mystery; in fact, the theory of a robbery
seemed untenable, since not a single article in the room had been
disturbed or removed from its accustomed place.
The startling fact at length forced itself upon the minds of all
concerned. The Cock-house Cup, Hadbury's most cherished and honoured
trophy, had, in some mysterious manner, disappeared; added to which was
the unpleasant reflection that Conway's would be held responsible for
its loss.
Ill news travels fast, and before morning school the tidings had spread
far and wide. Westcott, arriving in the big quadrangle ten minutes
before the bell rang, was told it by his chum Lawrence.
"I say, Westcott," cried the latter; "what d'you think? The Cock-house
Cup's gone!"
For a moment the day boy seemed overcome with the shock of this
announcement. He gulped in his throat, and then blankly said, "Oh!"
"Yes, it's gone, right enough," continued the other excitedly. "Lost, or
stolen, or something. Awful rum business. I've just heard all about it
from young Redfern, who's at Conway's."
And the speaker launched out into a vivid account of what had happened,
not forgetting to embellish the story with a little addition, prompted
by his own imagination.
"If they can't find where it's gone, they'll have a detective down from
London."
Westcott opened his mouth as though to reply, but he only gave forth a
kind of inarticulate gasp.
The excitement grew as the morning progressed. That a big silver cup
could have totally disappeared, and in such an extraordinary manner,
when the case which contained it was locked, was almost inconceivable;
and added to this was the fact which has already been stated, that the
challenge vase was the most valued trophy competed for by Hadbury boys.
"My eye!" exclaimed one member of the Sixth to another. "Brise will be
in a pretty way when he comes back. He'll pitch into those Conway
beggars for not being more careful, I know."
As the foregoing remark seemed to imply, the winners of the cup were
held in a way responsible for its loss, and the Conwayites were destined
to come in for a good deal of blame and reproach. Nowhere did the
feeling rise higher than in the Middle Fourth, of which form Westcott
was a member.
Mr. Blake, the master, happened to be a little late in appearing in his
classroom, and his pupils availed themselves of the opportunity of
airing their views on the topic of the moment.
"Yah, you miserable Conwayites!" cried Steward, who hailed from
Morgan's. "You can't keep that cup for a day, which shows you only won
it by a fluke."
"We didn't," shouted a youngster named Cay, firing up at once. "We won
it fairly enough, and you know that, Steward!"
"Then why can't you take proper care of it? You don't deserve to be
trusted with anything better than a pewter mug."
Like an assembly of foxhound puppies, several other youngsters now gave
tongue. Cay called Steward a liar, who promptly fired a book across the
room; and in another moment something in the form of a general action
might have taken place, if the appearance of Mr. Blake had not quelled
the disturbance.
At eleven o'clock the usual "break" took place in the morning's work,
and towards the end of the half-hour Herbert was crossing the road, when
Cay and another young Conwayite rushed up to him in a state of the
greatest excitement.
"I say, Herbert! Look what we've got! Sam says he found it in our yard
this morning."
The thing in question was a black flannel cap with red stripes.
"Well, what of it?" said the cricket captain. "It belongs to one of
Morgan's chaps."
"Yes, that's just it," cried Cay. "One of them must have been in our
yard last night. Sam found this before he blacked the boots this
morning. I say, Herbert, perhaps this was the fellow who carried off the
cup!"
"Oh, rubbish!" answered the senior. "How could he? And besides, what
object could there be in doing such a thing? You don't suppose we've got
any burglars in the school?"
"No, but they might have done it out of spite," persisted Cay. "It may
have been a sort of practical joke."
"Not it!" answered the senior. "No chap would be such a fool as to run
such risks for the sake of a joke. That isn't good enough!"
Though Herbert pooh-poohed the suggestion, he took possession of the
cap, and carried it away in his pocket. After dinner Mr. Conway called
the senior members of the house together for a consultation as to what
steps should be taken towards recovering the lost trophy. The first
thing seemed to be to ascertain in what manner it had disappeared; and
though several theories were advanced, not one of them seemed to offer a
satisfactory explanation of the mystery.
At length Herbert produced the black and red cap from his pocket, and
repeated the remarks which had been made by young Cay.
"I can't think that has anything to do with it," said the house-master.
"One of Mr. Morgan's boys may possibly have been in our yard last night,
and dropped his cap when climbing over the wall, but I can't bring
myself to believe that he stole the cup. Besides, how could he? The
thing's impossible!"
The events of the morning had left a feeling of soreness in the breasts
of most of the Conwayites, and no one offered a word in defence of
Morgan's.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Mr. Conway. "I'll give this cap to
Mr. Morgan, and report the matter to him. But, as I said before, I don't
believe for a moment that it has any bearing on the disappearance of the
cup. Well, unless we find out something between now and tea-time, I
really see no course open to us but to report the matter to the police."
Now, certainly, the plot began to thicken. On the following day, after
morning school, Mr. Conway once more summoned the senior boys of the
house for a consultation in his study. There was a peculiar look on his
face, which showed that the announcement he had to make was rather
unexpected.
"Mr. Morgan has just been over to see me with reference to that cap
which was found in our yard. He says that, from a mark inside it, it has
been identified as belonging to Southby. Now Southby admits that he was
in our yard on the evening in question, between suppertime and
prayers, but, beyond denying altogether that his visit had anything to
do with the disappearance of the cup, he refuses to give any explanation
of his conduct."
"Then I should say he's telling a lie, sir," blurted out Vincent. "If he
wasn't up to mischief, then why doesn't he say what he was doing on our
premises?"
"Well, that's just what Mr. Morgan has been trying to find out. He has
promised to bring Southby over here. We shall both question him; and, if
he still refuses to give an explanation, he must go before the
headmaster. Of course the matter will be thoroughly sifted; but I must
say I don't believe that Southby, or indeed any other boy, took the cup
from my study."
There was a moment's silence. To a man, the bystanders were inclined to
believe that the Morganites were answerable for what had happened.
"Look here, Buckle," said Mr. Conway suddenly. "Are you _sure_ that the
cup was in the case when you brought it away from the field? You see,"
continued the speaker, lifting the oak box from the floor at his side,
"the case itself is heavy, so, even if it had been empty, you might not
have noticed the difference in the weight."
"But I saw Herbert put the cup in myself, sir," was the answer. "Then he
locked the box and gave it straight into my hands. Besides, if the cup
had been left lying about anywhere, some one would have seen it, and we
should have heard about it before now."
This reply seemed reasonable enough, and so the conference ended, Mr.
Conway promising to renew it after he had had another interview with Mr.
Morgan.
As might have been expected, a report of the conversation which had
taken place in the house-master's study soon spread like wildfire, the
story receiving numerous sensational additions as it passed from mouth
to mouth, until, especially among the junior boys, it was openly
declared that Morgan's had organized a raid upon the rival house, and
carried off the cup. It was not likely that any community would allow
itself to be publicly charged with theft without some show of
resentment, and the unfriendly feeling with which Morgan's already
regarded the rival house now found vent in a blaze of indignation.
"Dirty sneaks!" cried one young gentleman. "They swindle us out of the
cup; and now, when they've got it and lost it, they want to make out
that we're nothing better than a gang of robbers. Wait till we play 'em
at football next term, and we'll show 'em the stuff we're made off!"
So high did feeling run that it was dangerous for wearers of the black
and red and the green and orange caps to approach within striking
distance of one another; indeed, if it had not been for the prompt
intervention of a stalwart prefect, two hot-headed youngsters would have
done battle just before dinner on one of the fives courts.
It was a lovely, hot, summer afternoon, and practice at the various
house nets was in progress.
Mrs. Arden sat by the open window in her parlour, doing some fancy work.
Suddenly the door opened, and her nephew entered. His face was flushed,
and he still wore the "blazer" and flannels in which he had gone to
cricket.
"You're back early," said his aunt.
The boy made no reply. He sat down on a chair, and a moment later buried
his face in his hands.
Mrs. Arden had thought he looked queer.
"What's the matter?" she asked, laying down her work. "Have you been
hurt?"
The "Weasel" shook his head, and gave vent to what sounded like a
stifled sob.
"It's this hot sun, I expect," said his aunt. "I daresay you've been
running about in it without your cap."
And hurrying out of the room, she returned a moment later with some cold
water.
"Now," she said, kneeling down by the boy's side, "tell me what's the
matter. Are you feeling giddy or faint?"
[Illustration: "_Tell me what's the matter._" Page 188.]
"Oh no, aunt," moaned the "Weasel," raising a face on which was depicted
an expression of unutterable woe. "It isn't that! It's the cup--the
Cock-house Cup! It's gone, and can't be found!"
"Well, what of that?" answered Aunt Polly, who could not realize the
immense value which the trophy possessed in a schoolboy's eyes.
"Why--why," faltered the unhappy juvenile, almost weeping, "it's my
fault! I did it!"
"You? What nonsense! Tell me directly what you mean."
When once started on the work of unburdening his soul, words came
quickly enough.
"It was like this. You know I told you how Conway's won the cup. It's
worth pounds and pounds; besides which, it's the one that has been
played for ever since there was a Cock-house Cup, and it has all the
names of the winners engraved on it, so it could never be replaced; and,
oh! I believe the fellows would kill me if they knew it was my fault!"
"Yes; but how _was_ it your fault?" interrupted the aunt.
"Why, after the match was over, there was a crowd in the pavilion, and I
squeezed in too. Buckle had the cup, and he put it down close to me on a
locker. Lots of fellows were chaffing old Buckle. I happened to have a
key in my pocket that fitted the case, and, just for a lark, I managed
to unlock it when no one was looking, and I slipped the cup inside the
locker. I thought Buckle would notice at once that the box was lighter
than before, and I never meant that he should go away without the cup;
but just then Brise ordered us all to clear out of the pavilion. Young
Roberts trod on my foot, and I chased him; and, somehow, I forgot all
about what I'd done until yesterday morning, when some one told me that
the cup was lost. Now they say one of Morgan's fellows stole it, and Mr.
Conway is going to put the matter in the hands of the police."
"But, my dear boy, why didn't you go and tell some one at once what
you'd done, and where they will find the cup?"
"That's just it," groaned the "Weasel." "I don't know where the cup
is--it's gone! I made an excuse and went and looked in the locker, but
it wasn't there; and I know Herbert has searched every corner of the
pavilion. It must have been stolen; and oh, aunt, it's all my fault!
What _shall_ I do?"
Aunt Polly could be firm if she liked, and her answer was prompt and
decisive.
"Go at once and tell Mr. Conway exactly what you've told me," she said.
"And say you are sorry you were too much of a coward to do so before. If
a theft has been committed, every hour you leave it makes it less likely
the cup will ever be recovered."
* * * * *
Standing together in the house-master's study were Mr. Conway, Mr.
Morgan, and Southby, the last named a strong, pleasant-looking boy, who
it was difficult to believe could be guilty of any mean or underhanded
action.
"Come, Southby," said Mr. Conway; "don't be foolish. This is a serious
matter, and it becomes all the more serious from your refusal to give us
the explanation we demand. What brought you into our house yard the
other evening?"
"I can't say, sir."
"Why not?"
"Because it would be acting unfairly to some one else."
"Oh, so there is some one else concerned in this matter besides
yourself?"
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Master Harry Westcott
entered the room. He was pale and trembling, and that air of jaunty
self-confidence which usually distinguished him had entirely vanished.
With a great effort, and in faltering tones, he made his confession. The
room seemed to swim before his eyes, but somehow he got through to the
end of his story, and then breathlessly awaited the result.
"Why didn't you tell me this at once, sir?" demanded the master sharply.
"No doubt the cup has been stolen from the pavilion. Tut! We must send
at once and tell the police."
Then came what was, perhaps, the most extraordinary part of the whole
business; for, as Mr. Conway stepped forward to ring the bell, there was
a knock at the door, and a servant entered, carrying what at first sight
looked like a bundle of green baize.
"Mr. Daniels has sent this, sir, and the boy's waiting to take back the
cloth."
Mr. Conway sprang forward, stripped off the covering, and held up to the
astonished gaze of all beholders--_the Cock-house Cup_!
"Why--why, where does this come from?" he exclaimed.
"Mr. Daniels, the jeweller, sent it, sir. The boy says you will find the
bill for the engraving inside."
There was a sound of footsteps in the passage, and Brise, the captain of
cricket, burst unceremoniously into the room.
"I'm very sorry, sir," he began, "but I've been away for two days, and I
only heard about the bother a few minutes ago. I told Buckle I would see
about having the name of the house engraved on the cup if he liked to
leave it in my hands. I found it, after the others had gone, in one of
the lockers, and I thought it had been left there on purpose; so I took
it down straight away, and handed it over to Daniels. I didn't mention
the matter, because I thought there was no necessity."
The mysterious disappearance of the cup was now fully explained; only
one question remained to be answered.
"Come, Southby," said Mr. Conway. "Tell me in confidence what it was
brought you into our yard."
"Well, sir," answered the boy, "I borrowed a saloon pistol from one of
your boys, and I came to return it. I didn't like to tell you for fear
of getting him into a row."
"Oh, that's the explanation, is it?" replied the master, laughing.
"Well, if I find the pistol I shall confiscate it; but in this instance
I won't press you to tell the boy's name, though I think I could guess
it, if I tried."
So the matter ended, and except that the "Weasel" got a licking for his
presumption in laying irreverent hands on such a sacred treasure as the
Cock-house Cup, there is nothing further to relate.
THE END.
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