Lucius Teggers had won his game, and ere long he would be going, too! As he walked in the quad he was thinking of Mr. Vernon-Smith’s millions, and he found the thought pleasant. “Something’s bucked the Creeper and Crawler,” said Bob Cherry, glancing after him. “I say, what’s become of Smithy?” Harry Wharton whistled. “Has he scored over Smithy? What can that silly ass have done now? Here, Redwing, where’s Smithy?” Tom Redwing shook his head. “No good asking me.” he said. “I’m afraid something’s up. You fellows know what the Head wanted him for?” “Haven’t the foggiest.” “I say, you fellows——” “Bunter knows, of course.” said Bob. “Bunter knows everything. Cough it up, Bunter! If anything’s happened on the other side of a keyhole you know all about it! Give it a name.” “Beast! I say, you fellows, I fancy Smithy’s sacked.” said Bunter. “He hasn’t been seen since he went to the Head! I say, you’ll be jolly glad, Redwing, I suppose, as you’ve rowed with him—” “You blithering idiot!” “Hallo, hallo, hallo, here he comes!” roared Bob, as the Bounder appeared in the doorway of the House, carrying his box on his shoulder. There was rather a rush of the Removites towards him. Some of them noticed that his face was a little pale; but he was quite cool and composed. The Bounder was not the man to show the White Feather. “Where on earth have you been, old chap?” asked Bob. “We were beginning to think something had happened to you.” “I’ve been packing my box.” “Eh, why?” “Head’s orders!” “Smithy!” exclaimed Harry Wharton. “You don’t mean——” The Bounder laughed. “I do!” “Bunked” breathed Frank Nugent. “Yes.” “What have you done?” “Helped a lame dog over a style.”
“What was the postmark on the letter?” “La ville—ze town, Courtfield pres d’ici.” “Bless my soul!” “Somevun zat know my trouble send him!” said Monsieur Charpentier. “It is not zat Smedley—j’en suis sur! Somevun here him talk perhaps——” Dr. Locke pursed his lips. “To refer to another matter, Monsieur Charpentier, have you had occasion, of late, to show any special kindness to Vernon-Smith, of the Remove?” “Smeet! Mai oui! But I razzer not speak of him, sair!” said Monsieur Charpentier. He give one great offence, sair, but I forgive him for z at, and zat affair he is all ovair, sir.” Dr. Locke was plunged deep in thought. Was it possible? Could it be possible that the scapegrace of the school, the hardest case at Greyfriars, grateful for an act of kindness, had done this? Was it barely possible that was the reason of his silence? The sum of money was the same—and what the Bounder had said in that study was that mentioning names, tallied with what Mossoo had said. Was it possible? Monsieur Charpentier was got rid of that last, and the head sat down to think. It was getting near his luncheon hour; but he was not thinking of lunch. Ten minutes later Dr. Locke ordered his car, and—recklessly regardless of lunch—drove away from the school. He was bound for Courtfield Post Office—to inquire whether a Greyfriars boy had posted a registered letter there the previous afternoon, and wonder that Greyfriars boy answered to the description of Herbert Vernon-Smith! THE SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER. Unexpected ! THE Bounder’s eyes gleamed. He was in the passage outside the Head’s study when Mr. Smedley came along from the other direction. Smithy had had his dinner with the Remove. Since receiving the Head’s order to pack his box he had had no word from Dr. Locke, and no arrangement had yet been made for his departure. With all the coolness and nerve he had shown before the Removites, Smithy had a