Mr. Quelch’s eyes glinted. “Let us proceed!” he repeated coldly. “My Form cannot be cleared from this obnoxious suspicion too soon.” And the five beaks proceeded, and five junior Forms were ordered to assemble in their respective Form-rooms for examination by five who were determined, if they could possibly help it, not to discover the offender in their particular Forms! THE SIXTH CHAPTER. Neck or Nothing! “I SAY, you fellows—” “Buck up, Bunter!” called out Bob Cherry. “But I say—” “Form-room, fathead!” said Harry Wharton. As head boy of the Remove, Wharton was gathering in Mr. Quelch’s flock. “That’s all very well.” argued Bunter. “But what’s it about? Looks as if we may be late for dinner at this rate!” “Quelch’s orders, ass!” “Blow Quelch!” growled Billy Bunter. But he rolled off to the Form-room with the rest. He might relieve his fat feelings by “blowing” Quelch, but Quelch’s orders had to be obeyed, all the same, even at the awful risk of being late for dinner. “What’s the fearful row about, you men?” asked Lord Mauleverer as the Removites crowded along the Form-room passage. “Nobody seems to know.” answered Harry Wharton. “But all the Lower School seems to he called up.” “Something to do with the Head!” said Skinner. “I’m sure of that. What have you been up to, Bunter?” “Oh, really, Skinner—” “Say, has that fat guy been up to anything?” asked Fisher T. Fish. “Well, he was jawing something about the Head having ink in his hat!” chuckled Skinner. “If it turns out to be that—” “You beast!” roared Bunter. “I never did it! Did I, Smithy?” The Bounder’s eyes glinted at him. “How should I know?” he answered coolly. Billy Bunter turned his eyes, and his spectacles on the Bounder. His eyes almost popped through his spectacles in his surprise. “Why, you beast!” he gasped. “You jolly well know—”
“Oh, my hat! The Head!” gasped Bob Cherry. Dr. Locke had observed the uproar, and arrived to inquire the cause. The Bounder was dropped as suddenly as if he had become red hot! He lay sprawling, almost at the headmaster’s feet, panting for breath. The juniors stood round him, blinking at the Head—Remove and Fourth and Shell. “What—what does this mean?” demanded the Head. “Hem!” “Hobson, what—“— “It—it—it’s a ragging, sir!” stammered Hobby. “Vernon-Smith!” The Bounder staggered to his feet. The Head, looked at him—long and hard Then he looked round at the flushed and uneasy faces of the juniors. Probably it did not take the headmaster long to put two and two together. He had had to let the Bounder off, on insufficient evidence; but it was fairly cIear that the Lower School of Greyfriars considered the evidence sufficient. Nobody intended to tell the Head anything: but he did not need telling. There was a long pause— and then Dr. Locke spoke, in quiet tones: “Let there be no more of this!” “Very well, sir!” said Hobson meekly. “You hear me, Wharton!” “Yes, sir!” The Head rustled away. The Bounder, panting, glared defiance at the crowd of juniors. They gave him grim looks—but no hand was laid on him again as he swung away. The ragging was over! * * * * * “I say, you fellows!” Billy Bunter come scuttling out of the house ten minutes later. “1 say, it’s washed out!” yelled Bunter. “What is, fathead?” growled Cherry. “The gating! There’s a notice on the board, cancelling it!” squeaked the Owl of the Remove, “Oh, my hat!” There was a rush to see the new paper on the board. It was true: the “gating” of the Lower School was cancelled. The Head. evidently, had lost no time. Bob Cherry whistled. “That means that the Beak knows!” he said. “No knows it was Smithy—