ady."

Now that West-African war-drum had been made to signal across estuaries
and deltas. Number Five was forbidden to wake the engine within earshot
of the school. But a deep, devastating drone filled the passages as
McTurk and Beetle scientifically rubbed its top. Anon it changed to the
blare of trumpets--of savage pursuing trumpets. Then, as McTurk slapped
one side, smooth with the blood of ancient sacrifice, the roar broke
into short coughing howls such as the wounded gorilla throws in his
native forest. These were followed by the wrath of King--three steps
at a time, up the staircase, with a dry whir of the gown. Aladdin and
company, listening, squeaked with excitement as the door crashed open.
King stumbled into the darkness, and cursed those performers by the gods
of Balliol and quiet repose.

"Turned out for a week," said Aladdin, holding the study door on the
crack. "Key to be brought down to his study in five minutes. 'Brutes!
Barbarians! Savages! Children!' He's rather agitated. 'Arrah, Patsy,
mind the baby,'" he sang in a whisper as he clung to the door-knob,
dancing a noiseless war-dance.

King went down-stairs again, and Beetle and McTurk lit the gas to confer
with Stalky. But Stalky had vanished.

"Looks like no end of a mess," said Beetle, collecting his books and
mathematical instrument case. "A week in the form-rooms isn't any
advantage to us."

"Yes, but don't you see that Stalky isn't here, you owl!" said McTurk.
"Take down the key, and look sorrowful. King'll only jaw you for half an
hour. I'm going to read in the lower form-room."

"But it's always me," mourned Beetle.

"Wait till we see," said McTurk, hopefully. "I don't know any more than
you do what Stalky means, but it's something. Go down and draw King's
fire. You're used to it."

No sooner had the key turned in the door than the lid of the coal-box,
which was also the window-seat, lifted cautiously. It had been a tight
fit, even for the lithe Stalky, his head between his knees, and his
stomach under his right ear. From a drawer in the table he took a
well-worn catapult, a handful of buckshot, and a duplicate key of the
study; noiselessly he raised the window and kneeled by it, his face
turned to the road, the wind-sloped trees, the dark levels of the
Burrows, and the white line of breakers falling nine-deep along the
Pebbleridge. Far down the steep-banked Devonshire lane he heard the
husky hoot of the carrier's horn. There was a gh