Gunpowder Treason and Plot, and Other Stories for Boys

"Yes; but how was it your fault?" interrupted the aunt.

"Why, after the match was over, there was a crowd in the pavilion, and I squeezed in too. Buckle had the cup, and he put it down close to me on a locker. Lots of fellows were chaffing old Buckle. I happened to have a key in my pocket that fitted the case, and, just for a lark, I managed to unlock it when no one was looking, and I slipped the cup inside the locker. I thought Buckle would notice at once that the box was lighter than before, and I never meant that he should go away without the cup; but just then Brise ordered us all to clear out of the pavilion. Young Roberts trod on my foot, and I chased him; and, somehow, I forgot all about what I'd done until yesterday morning, when some one told me that the cup was lost. Now they say one of Morgan's fellows stole it, and Mr. Conway is going to put the matter in the hands of the police."

"But, my dear boy, why didn't you go and tell some one at once what you'd done, and where they will find the cup?"

"That's just it," groaned the "Weasel." "I don't know where the cup is – it's gone! I made an excuse and went and looked in the locker, but it wasn't there; and I know Herbert has searched every corner of the pavilion. It must have been stolen; and oh, aunt, it's all my fault! What shall I do?"

Aunt Polly could be firm if she liked, and her answer was prompt and decisive.

"Go at once and tell Mr. Conway exactly what you've told me," she said. "And say you are sorry you were too much of a coward to do so before. If a theft has been committed, every hour you leave it makes it less likely the cup will ever be recovered."

Standing together in the house-master's study were Mr. Conway, Mr. Morgan, and Southby, the last named a strong, pleasant-looking boy, who it was difficult to believe could be guilty of any mean or underhanded action.

"Come, Southby," said Mr. Conway; "don't be foolish. This is a serious matter, and it becomes all the more serious from your refusal to give us the explanation we demand. What brought you into our house yard the other evening?"

"I can't say, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be acting unfairly to some one else."

"Oh, so there is some one else concerned in this matter besides yourself?"

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Master Harry Westcott entered the room. He was pale and trembling, and that air of jaunty self-confidence which usually distinguished him had entirely vanished. With a great effort, and in faltering tones, he made his confession. The room seemed to swim before his eyes, but somehow he got through to the end of his story, and then breathlessly awaited the result.

"Why didn't you tell me this at once, sir?" demanded the master sharply. "No doubt the cup has been stolen from the pavilion. Tut! We must send at once and tell the police."

Then came what was, perhaps, the most extraordinary part of the whole business; for, as Mr. Conway stepped forward to ring the bell, there was a knock at the door, and a servant entered, carrying what at first sight looked like a bundle of green baize.

"Mr. Daniels has sent this, sir, and the boy's waiting to take back the cloth."

Mr. Conway sprang forward, stripped off the covering, and held up to the astonished gaze of all beholders —the Cock-house Cup!

"Why – why, where does this come from?" he exclaimed.

"Mr. Daniels, the jeweller, sent it, sir. The boy says you will find the bill for the engraving inside."

There was a sound of footsteps in the passage, and Brise, the captain of cricket, burst unceremoniously into the room.

"I'm very sorry, sir," he began, "but I've been away for two days, and I only heard about the bother a few minutes ago. I told Buckle I would see about having the name of the house engraved on the cup if he liked to leave it in my hands. I found it, after the others had gone, in one of the lockers, and I thought it had been left there on purpose; so I took it down straight away, and handed it over to Daniels. I didn't mention the matter, because I thought there was no necessity."

The mysterious disappearance of the cup was now fully explained; only one question remained to be answered.

"Come, Southby," said Mr. Conway. "Tell me in confidence what it was brought you into our yard."

"Well, sir," answered the boy, "I borrowed a saloon pistol from one of your boys, and I came to return it. I didn't like to tell you for fear of getting him into a row."

"Oh, that's the explanation, is it?" replied the master, laughing. "Well, if I find the pistol I shall confiscate it; but in this instance I won't press you to tell the boy's name, though I think I could guess it, if I tried."

So the matter ended, and except that the "Weasel" got a licking for his presumption in laying irreverent hands on such a sacred treasure as the Cock-house Cup, there is nothing further to relate.

THE END