“I scarcely know him myself. He isn't liked in Seymour's, I believe.”
“Well, anyhow, this can't be his work.”
“That's what I said.”
“For all we know, the League may have got their knife into Barry for some reason. You said they used to get their knife into fellows in that way. Anyhow, I mean to find out who ragged my room.”
“It wouldn't be a bad idea,” said Clowes.
* * * * *
O'Hara came round to Donaldson's before morning school next day to tell Trevor that he had not yet succeeded in finding the lost bat. He found Trevor and Clowes in the former's den, trying to put a few finishing touches to the same.
“Hullo, an' what's up with your study?” he inquired. He was quick at noticing things. Trevor looked annoyed. Clowes asked the visitor if he did not think the study presented a neat and gentlemanly appearance.
“Where are all your photographs, Trevor?” persisted the descendant of Irish kings.
“It's no good trying to conceal anything from the bhoy,” said Clowes. “Sit down, O'Hara-mind that chair; it's rather wobbly-and I will tell ye the story.”
“Can you keep a thing dark?” inquired Trevor.
O'Hara protested that tombs were not in it.
“Well, then, do you remember what happened to Mill's study? That's what's been going on here.”
O'Hara nearly fell off his chair with surprise. That some philanthropist should rag Mill's study was only to be expected. Mill was one of the worst. A worm without a saving grace. But Trevor! Captain of football! In the first eleven! The thing was unthinkable.
“But who-?” he began.
“That's just what I want to know,” said Trevor, shortly. He did not enjoy discussing the affair.
“How long have you been at Wrykyn, O'Hara?” said Clowes.
O'Hara made a rapid calculation. His fingers twiddled in the air as he worked out the problem.
“Six years,” he said at last, leaning back exhausted with brain work.
“Then you must remember the League?”
“Remember the League? Rather.”
“Well, it's been revived.”
O'Hara whistled.
“This'll liven the old place up,” he said. “I've often thought of reviving it meself. An' so has Moriarty. If it's anything like the Old League, there's going to be a sort of Donnybrook before it's done with. I wonder who's running it this time.”
“We should like to know that. If you find out, you might tell us.”
“I will.”
“And don't tell anybody else,” said Trevor. “This business has got to be kept quiet. Keep it dark about my study having been ragged.”
“I won't tell a soul.”
“Not even Moriarty.”
“Oh, hang it, man,” put in Clowes, “you don't want to kill the poor bhoy, surely? You must let him tell one person.”
“All right,” said Trevor, “you can tell Moriarty. But nobody else, mind.”
O'Hara promised that Moriarty should receive the news exclusively.
“But why did the League go for ye?”
“They happen to be down on me. It doesn't matter why. They are.”
“I see,” said O'Hara. “Oh,” he added, “about that bat. The search is being 'vigorously prosecuted'—that's a newspaper quotation—”
“Times?” inquired Clowes.
“
“Read that,” he said.
It was from the local paper, and ran as follows:—
“
