He produced from his pocket a piece of paper. It bore the names of fifteen Harleyans, who had been selected to play in the great match of the year, and the name of Coles was included. Smythe drew his attention to the fact. “I just want to know,” said he, “that you’re quite willing to turn out, and I want your word of honour that in the event of there being a big row about this when it’s found out you’ll stand with the team and take a fair share of any blame that may be going. I ask this because the probability is that the Head may try to drop on Rouse and make him the scapegoat. I also want your word of honour that you will say nothing and do nothing that could lead to this secret being discovered by the Head or any beak at all.” Coles looked at him oddly. “You want my word of honour? Why mine?” “We’re asking for everybody’s,” said Smythe coldly. “You needn’t be alarmed.” “But why? What makes that necessary? Who do you suppose might give it away?” “We’re asking this of each fellow who’s going to play, purely to avoid giving offence to any one man. The temper of the school at present doesn’t permit of taking risks. That’s all. Do you mind giving what we ask?” “No,” said Coles at last. “Why should I? What’s all the suspicion about?” He paused, glancing at Smythe resentfully. “What is it you want me to promise?” Smythe repeated it. He jerked his head. “All right. I’ll give my word.” Smythe solemnly put a little tick against his name on the list, stayed a few moments talking over arrangements, and finally took his departure. In the corridor outside he came upon two boys. One he identified without difficulty as Henry Hope, but as he passed Henry drew his companion into the shadow of the wall behind him. For Henry had just made a regrettable discovery. He had reported that nobody of importance existed in Harley who was not delighted at the prospect of the Rainhurst match, and he had overlooked one case, a case that had only just come properly to his notice. There was a young man in Harley who showed no pleasure at the arrangements made, who seemed, on the contrary, smitten with some foreboding. The young man would give no explanation. He would offer no definite opinion. It was merely a case in which the symptoms of depression had increased rather than decreased, and were it not for one outstanding fact the matter might have been exceptional, and therefore of no real importance. But Henry could not lose sight of that one fact. The young man concerned was Coles’ fag. Henry would have to watch out. CHAPTER XVI YESTERDAY’S CAPTAIN