Paul.

He was on the point of retreating when the sound came again to his ears.

"No; I wasn't mistaken," he said, stepping softly into the room and
closing the door after him. "It was somebody, but who?"

He looked round, puzzled. There was no one visible. He stood perfectly
still and waited. A few seconds more, and the groaning was repeated. But
this time he detected whence it came. It came from under one of the
cubicles. He crossed to it and looked underneath. A boy was huddled up
on the floor. One glance was sufficient to tell him who it was--it was
Master Plunger.

"Here. Plunger, come out of that!"

Plunger did not attempt to move.

"Come out of that, I tell you!"

As Plunger still refused to move, Paul took him by the leg and hauled
him out.

Such a woebegone Plunger it was! His wiry thatch was more dishevelled
than usual. The eyebrows seemed to have made a more desperate attempt
than ever to invade the territory of the forehead. The self-assurance
which had been the distinguishing mark of Plunger's manner had gone.

"Le' me go--le' me go!" he groaned. "I want to die!"

"Die!" Paul could scarcely refrain from laughing. "There's not much of
that about you! You're not one of those whom 'the gods love,' so you'll
never die young, Plunger. What have you been up to? I believe you've
been smoking."

This accusation brought Plunger to a sitting posture on the bed.

"I haven't been smoking--I haven't been smoking! It's the flag!"

"What about the flag?"

"I angled for it, and thought I'd hooked it; but I hadn't. Some other
fellow had; so instead of hooking the flag I got a beastly swishing.
That's not all. I shall get roasted all round, and, of course, the Two
J.'s will be poking fun at me in the 'Gargoyle Record.' I'd like to know
who the fellow was who got the flag. Have you heard?"

"I have heard, but I haven't time to go into it just now. Your friend
Moncrief minor can tell you all about it. Cheer up, Plunger, and don't
talk any more about dying."

Paul hurried off, leaving Plunger to digest the scanty information he
had given him as best he could.

"Now for Stan!" he said, as he made his way to the common room, but
little dreaming what was there in store for him.

CHAPTER XLIII

THE STORM BREAKS

As Paul approached the common-room, the sound of voices came through the
open door, and clear above the hubbub rose the voice of some one making
free use of his name. He knew the voice wel