The idea was welcomed gladly by all, except the prisoners. A move was made towards the pond, and the procession had halted on the brink, when a new voice made itself heard. “Now then,” it said, “what’s all this?” A stout figure in policeman’s uniform was standing surveying them with the aid of a small bull’s-eye lantern. “What’s all this?” “It’s all right,” said Wyatt. “All right, is it? What’s on?” One of the prisoners spoke. “Make ’em leave hold of us, Mr. Butt. They’re a-going to chuck us in the pond.” “Ho!” said the policeman, with a change in his voice. “Ho, are they? Come now, young gentleman, a lark’s a lark, but you ought to know where to stop.” “It’s anything but a lark,” said Wyatt in the creamy voice he used when feeling particularly savage. “We’re the Strong Right Arm of Justice. That’s what we are. This isn’t a lark, it’s an execution.” “I don’t want none of your lip, whoever you are,” said Mr. Butt, understanding but dimly, and suspecting impudence by instinct. “This is quite a private matter,” said Wyatt. “You run along on your beat. You can’t do anything here.” “Ho!” “Shove ’em in, you chaps.” “Stop!” From Mr. Butt. “Oo-er!” From prisoner number one. There was a sounding splash as willing hands urged the first of the captives into the depths. He ploughed his way to the bank, scrambled out, and vanished. Wyatt turned to the other prisoner. “You’ll have the worst of it, going in second. He’ll have churned up the mud a bit. Don’t swallow more than you can help, or you’ll go getting typhoid. I expect there are leeches and things there, but if you nip out quick they may not get on to you. Carry on, you chaps.” It was here that the regrettable incident occurred. Just as the second prisoner was being launched, Constable Butt, determined to assert himself even at the eleventh hour, sprang forward, and seized the captive by the arm. A drowning man will clutch at a straw. A man about to be hurled into an excessively dirty pond will clutch at a stout policeman. The prisoner did. Constable Butt represented his one link with dry land. As he came within reach he attached himself to his tunic with the vigour and concentration of a limpet. At the same moment the executioners gave their man the final heave. The policeman realised his peril too late. A medley of noises made the peaceful night hideous. A howl from the townee, a yell from the policeman, a cheer from the launching party, a frightened squawk from some birds in a neighbouring tree, and a splash compared with which the first had been as nothing, and all was over. The dark waters were lashed into a maelstrom; and then two streaming figures squelched up the further bank. [Illustration: THE DARK WATERS WERE LASHED INTO A MAELSTROM] The school stood in silent consternation. It was no occasion for light apologies.