Mr. Prattleton heard the assertion with equanimity, and began whistling a popular air as he left the house. Hunt just glanced upwards, and saw it was the veritable church key. "It is the key," he said. "What do you mean?" "It must have been my shaking hand then," debated Lewis. "Old Hunt must know the key, and George Prattleton too. Hunt," he added, aloud, "you will lend me the key again for five minutes." "No, sir," raved out the old clerk, "and I hope you'll be flogged for having took it in defiance, though you be a senior, and a'most six foot high." He pushed Lewis out at the door as he spoke, fearing another act of defiance, and closed it. Lewis stood in irresolution; his terror for the fate of Henry Arkell was strong upon him. He flew after George Prattleton. "Will you do me a favour?" he panted, completely out of breath in his haste and agitation. "I want to get into the church, and Hunt has turned obstinate about the key. Will you get it from him for me?" Mr. Prattleton stopped and gazed at him. "You cannot want anything in the church, Lewis. What are you up to?" "Do get the key for me," he entreated, unable to help betraying his emotion. "I must go in; I _must_, Mr. Prattleton. It may be a matter of life or death." "You are ill, Lewis; you are agitated. What is all this?" "I am not ill. I only want to get into the church." "For what purpose?" "It's a little private matter of my own." "You can tell me what it is." "No, I cannot do that." "Then I cannot help you." Lewis was pushed to his wits' end. George Prattleton was walking on, but turned again and waited. He was not free from some inward wonder and agitation himself, remembering his own adventure of the past night. "If I trust a secret to you, will you promise, on your honour, not to tell it again?" asked Lewis. "It's nothing much; only a lark, concerning one of us college boys." "Oh, I'll promise," readily answered George Prattleton, who was rarely troubled with scruples of any sort, and used to be fond of "larks" himself; rather too much so. "Well, then, I locked Harry Arkell in the church last night, and I want to go and see after him, for fear he should be dead of fright, or something of that, you know." "In there all night? in the church all night?" stammered George Prattleton, as if he could not take in the meaning of the words. "He went in to practise after school yesterday evening, and I turned the key upon him, and took it back to old Hunt's, and he has been in there ever since, fastened up with the ghosts. I did it only for a lark, you know." George Prattleton's arms dropped powerless by his side, and his face turned of some livid colour between white and green. Would the previous night's exploit--_his_ exploit--come out to the world through this miserable fellow's ill-timed "joke?" But all they could do now was to see after Henry Arkell. They went back to the clerk's, and George Prattleton took the key from the hook.