"Quite right, gentlemen, excuse me," and Master Sherwood backed out, followed by Creakle. Humiliation is a poor word to express the feelings of the under-master. Creakle could be heard expostulating with him in the corridor. "I saw them both, on the run out of town, and saw them enter on their return, and there was a smell of ducks, sir, on Mr. Thomas's clothes." "Nonsense," said Master Sherwood, "how should it not be manifest to me also?" Sherwood had not thought of the possibility of Thomas changing his clothes. Creakle still protested. "Absurd! Why, sir, do you know you are accusing the head of the fifth?" said Master Sherwood, exasperated. "Do you know your misplaced zeal has involved me in censure that was just, and a rebuke from fifth form boys that was, to say the least, humiliating? You, sir, should have known better. There must have been an upheaval of latent stupidity within you to thus bring disgrace upon both master and school. Sir, how will the public esteem our reputation when they are informed that master and monitor are banded together to disturb the study hours, and falsely accuse honourable students." "I thought," began Creakle, humbly. "You thought, sir; what right had you to think? You must know before recklessly accusing honourable students and bringing disgrace, not on me alone, but on the head." Master Sherwood, in high dudgeon, went to his study, and Creakle, crestfallen, retired to the form room, where he had charge over the smaller form study hours. "Now," said Dick, "that spying cad must be brought down to give him some sparks of honour." "What's the plan?" Dick, for the first time, refused to divulge to his chum his course, but divesting himself of his shoes cautiously slipped down to the cloakroom below. That night, as Creakle was donning his gown, which he always left in the cloakroom, there arose a fearful uproar in the corridor above. Hastening upstairs with full speed, he tripped over an invisible something and fell with a crash to the floor. Instantly doors opened, lights appeared, and a confused sound of many voices, and in the midst of all, along stalked Master Sherwood. "What is the meaning of this, Creakle?" he asked of that worthy, who was still on the floor, dazed with his fall. "I fell, sir." "You did, and pray why?" with biting sarcasm. Just then he smelt the fumes of rye on the garb of the miserable Creakle, and his face grew dark with severity. "You have been drinking, sir?" "I have not," stammered the monitor.