ptain. "Not
till you promise to get back the names."

"I shall do nothing of the sort."

"You won't? You know the consequence?" Riddell said nothing. "I shall
tell of Wyndham," said Silk. "Please leave my room," once more said the
captain. Silk glared at him, and took a step forward as though he meant
to try one last method for extorting the promise.

But Riddell stood his ground boldly, and the spirit of the bully
faltered.

"You'll be sorry for it," snarled the latter. Riddell said nothing, but
waited patiently for him to go. Seeing that nothing more was to be
gained, and baffled on all points--even on the point where he made sure
of having his enemy, Silk turned on his heel and went, slamming the door
viciously behind him.

Riddell had rarely felt such a sense of relief as he experienced on
being thus left to himself.

The suddenness of Silk's disclosure and the strange way in which it had
been followed up had disconcerted him. But now he had time to think
calmly over the whole affair.

And two things seemed pretty clear. One was that, strange as it seemed,
there must be something in Silk's story. He could hardly have invented
it and stuck to it in the way he had for no other purpose than
embarrassing the captain; and the pressure he had applied to get Riddell
to withdraw the names before the doctor saw them, confirmed this idea.

The other point made clear was that his duty, at whatever cost, even at
the cost of young Wyndham himself, was to report the fight and make no
terms with the offenders. If the result was what Silk threatened, he
could only hope the doctor would deal leniently with the boy.

One other thing was clear too. He must see both Wyndham and Bloomfield
in the morning.

With which resolve, and not without a prayer for wisdom better than his
own to act in this crisis, he retired to bed.

Early next morning, before almost any sign of life showed itself in
Willoughby, the captain was up and dressed.

The magic that so often attends on a night's sleep had done its work on
him, and as he walked across the quadrangle that fresh summer morning
his head was clear and his mind made up.

The outer door of the schoolhouse was still unopened, and he paced
outside, as it seemed to him, for half an hour before he could get in.

He went at once to Wyndham's study, and found that young athlete
arraying himself in his cricket flannels.

"Hullo, Riddell!" cried he, as the captain entere