Gunpowder Treason and Plot, and Other Stories for Boys

"If they can't find where it's gone, they'll have a detective down from London."

Westcott opened his mouth as though to reply, but he only gave forth a kind of inarticulate gasp.

The excitement grew as the morning progressed. That a big silver cup could have totally disappeared, and in such an extraordinary manner, when the case which contained it was locked, was almost inconceivable; and added to this was the fact which has already been stated, that the challenge vase was the most valued trophy competed for by Hadbury boys.

"My eye!" exclaimed one member of the Sixth to another. "Brise will be in a pretty way when he comes back. He'll pitch into those Conway beggars for not being more careful, I know."

As the foregoing remark seemed to imply, the winners of the cup were held in a way responsible for its loss, and the Conwayites were destined to come in for a good deal of blame and reproach. Nowhere did the feeling rise higher than in the Middle Fourth, of which form Westcott was a member.

Mr. Blake, the master, happened to be a little late in appearing in his classroom, and his pupils availed themselves of the opportunity of airing their views on the topic of the moment.

"Yah, you miserable Conwayites!" cried Steward, who hailed from Morgan's. "You can't keep that cup for a day, which shows you only won it by a fluke."

"We didn't," shouted a youngster named Cay, firing up at once. "We won it fairly enough, and you know that, Steward!"

"Then why can't you take proper care of it? You don't deserve to be trusted with anything better than a pewter mug."

Like an assembly of foxhound puppies, several other youngsters now gave tongue. Cay called Steward a liar, who promptly fired a book across the room; and in another moment something in the form of a general action might have taken place, if the appearance of Mr. Blake had not quelled the disturbance.

At eleven o'clock the usual "break" took place in the morning's work, and towards the end of the half-hour Herbert was crossing the road, when Cay and another young Conwayite rushed up to him in a state of the greatest excitement.

"I say, Herbert! Look what we've got! Sam says he found it in our yard this morning."

The thing in question was a black flannel cap with red stripes.

"Well, what of it?" said the cricket captain. "It belongs to one of Morgan's chaps."

"Yes, that's just it," cried Cay. "One of them must have been in our yard last night. Sam found this before he blacked the boots this morning. I say, Herbert, perhaps this was the fellow who carried off the cup!"

"Oh, rubbish!" answered the senior. "How could he? And besides, what object could there be in doing such a thing? You don't suppose we've got any burglars in the school?"

"No, but they might have done it out of spite," persisted Cay. "It may have been a sort of practical joke."

"Not it!" answered the senior. "No chap would be such a fool as to run such risks for the sake of a joke. That isn't good enough!"

Though Herbert pooh-poohed the suggestion, he took possession of the cap, and carried it away in his pocket. After dinner Mr. Conway called the senior members of the house together for a consultation as to what steps should be taken towards recovering the lost trophy. The first thing seemed to be to ascertain in what manner it had disappeared; and though several theories were advanced, not one of them seemed to offer a satisfactory explanation of the mystery.

At length Herbert produced the black and red cap from his pocket, and repeated the remarks which had been made by young Cay.

"I can't think that has anything to do with it," said the house-master. "One of Mr. Morgan's boys may possibly have been in our yard last night, and dropped his cap when climbing over the wall, but I can't bring myself to believe that he stole the cup. Besides, how could he? The thing's impossible!"

The events of the morning had left a feeling of soreness in the breasts of most of the Conwayites, and no one offered a word in defence of Morgan's.

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Mr. Conway. "I'll give this cap to Mr. Morgan, and report the matter to him. But, as I said before, I don't believe for a moment that it has any bearing on the disappearance of the cup. Well, unless we find out something between now and tea-time, I really see no course open to us but to report the matter to the police."

Now, certainly, the plot began to thicken. On the following day, after morning school, Mr. Conway once more summoned the senior boys of the house for a consultation in his study. There was a peculiar look on his face, which showed that the announcement he had to make was rather unexpected.

"Mr. Morgan has just been over to see me with reference to that cap which was found in our yard. He says that, from a mark inside it, it has been identified as belonging to Southby. Now Southby admits that he was in our yard on the evening in question, between suppertime and prayers, but, beyond denying altogether that his visit had anything to do with the disappearance of the cup, he refuses to give any explanation of his conduct."

"Then I should say he's telling a lie, sir," blurted out Vincent. "If he wasn't up to mischief, then why doesn't he say what he was doing on our premises?"

"Well, that's just what Mr. Morgan has been trying to find out. He has promised to bring Southby over here. We shall both question him; and, if he still refuses to give an explanation, he must go before the headmaster. Of course the matter will be thoroughly sifted; but I must say I don't believe that Southby, or indeed any other boy, took the cup from my study."

There was a moment's silence. To a man, the bystanders were inclined to believe that the Morganites were answerable for what had happened.

"Look here, Buckle," said Mr. Conway suddenly. "Are you sure that the cup was in the case when you brought it away from the field? You see," continued the speaker, lifting the oak box from the floor at his side, "the case itself is heavy, so, even if it had been empty, you might not have noticed the difference in the weight."

"But I saw Herbert put the cup in myself, sir," was the answer. "Then he locked the box and gave it straight into my hands. Besides, if the cup had been left lying about anywhere, some one would have seen it, and we should have heard about it before now."

This reply seemed reasonable enough, and so the conference ended, Mr. Conway promising to renew it after he had had another interview with Mr. Morgan.

As might have been expected, a report of the conversation which had taken place in the house-master's study soon spread like wildfire, the story receiving numerous sensational additions as it passed from mouth to mouth, until, especially among the junior boys, it was openly declared that Morgan's had organized a raid upon the rival house, and carried off the cup. It was not likely that any community would allow itself to be publicly charged with theft without some show of resentment, and the unfriendly feeling with which Morgan's already regarded the rival house now found vent in a blaze of indignation.

"Dirty sneaks!" cried one young gentleman. "They swindle us out of the cup; and now, when they've got it and lost it, they want to make out that we're nothing better than a gang of robbers. Wait till we play 'em at football next term, and we'll show 'em the stuff we're made off!"

So high did feeling run that it was dangerous for wearers of the black and red and the green and orange caps to approach within striking distance of one another; indeed, if it had not been for the prompt intervention of a stalwart prefect, two hot-headed youngsters would have done battle just before dinner on one of the fives courts.

It was a lovely, hot, summer afternoon, and practice at the various house nets was in progress.

Mrs. Arden sat by the open window in her parlour, doing some fancy work. Suddenly the door opened, and her nephew entered. His face was flushed, and he still wore the "blazer" and flannels in which he had gone to cricket.

"You're back early," said his aunt.

The boy made no reply. He sat down on a chair, and a moment later buried his face in his hands.

Mrs. Arden had thought he looked queer.

"What's the matter?" she asked, laying down her work. "Have you been hurt?"

The "Weasel" shook his head, and gave vent to what sounded like a stifled sob.

"It's this hot sun, I expect," said his aunt. "I daresay you've been running about in it without your cap."

And hurrying out of the room, she returned a moment later with some cold water.

"Now," she said, kneeling down by the boy's side, "tell me what's the matter. Are you feeling giddy or faint?"

"Oh no, aunt," moaned the "Weasel," raising a face on which was depicted an expression of unutterable woe. "It isn't that! It's the cup – the Cock-house Cup! It's gone, and can't be found!"

"Well, what of that?" answered Aunt Polly, who could not realize the immense value which the trophy possessed in a schoolboy's eyes.

"Why – why," faltered the unhappy juvenile, almost weeping, "it's my fault! I did it!"

"You? What nonsense! Tell me directly what you mean."

When once started on the work of unburdening his soul, words came quickly enough.

"It was like this. You know I told you how Conway's won the cup. It's worth pounds and pounds; besides which, it's the one that has been played for ever since there was a Cock-house Cup, and it has all the names of the winners engraved on it, so it could never be replaced; and, oh! I believe the fellows would kill me if they knew it was my fault!"