milar purpose when Warde
himself was a boy at the Manor. It was vital to John's plan that Warde
should see him without recognizing him, and give chase. The chase would
end in capture at some point as reasonably far from the Manor as
possible. Warde might ask for explanations, but none would be
forthcoming till the morrow. Meantime, the coast would be clear for
Desmond. John, in fine, was playing the part of a pilot-engine.

But where was Warde?

The question answered itself within a minute, and after a fashion
absolutely unforeseen. As John was crossing from the shrubbery to the
wicket he looked back. To his horror, he saw lights in the boys' side,
light in the window of Scaife's room. Instantly John divined what had
come to pass, and cursed himself for a fool. Warde, from some coign of
vantage, had seen a boy leave his house. Why should he try to arrest the
boy? why should he risk the humiliation of running after him, and,
perhaps, failing to capture him? No, no; men forty were not likely to
work in that boyish fashion. Warde had adopted an infinitely better
plan. Assured that a boy had left the house, he had nothing to do but
walk round the rooms and find out which one was absent. He had begun
with Scaife. Next to Scaife was the room belonging to the Head of the
House; then came John's room, and then Caesar's. Long before Warde
reached Caesar's room, Caesar would have heard him. Caesar, at any rate,
was saved. John crept back under cover of the shrubberies. He saw the
light flicker out of Scaife's window, and shine more steadily in the
next room. The window of this room was open, and John could hear the
voice of Warde and the Head of the House. John waited. And then the
light shone in Desmond's room. John crouched against the wall,
trembling. If Caesar had not heard the voices, if he were fully dressed,
if---- Suddenly he caught Warde's reassuring words: "Ah, Desmond, sorry
to disturb you. Good night."

John waited. Very soon Scaife would come to Desmond's room. Ah! Just so.
The night was so still that he could hear quite plainly the boys'
muffled voices.

"What's up?"

"Warde is going his rounds. Perhaps he smells a rat."

And then whispers! John strained his ears. Only a word or two more
reached him. "Verney---- D----d interfering sneak! Let's see!" It was
Scaife who was speaking.

John heard his own door opened and shut. Scaife, then, had discovered
his absence, and naturally leaped to the conclusion that