"Not there!" Dr. Brabazon sent his thoughts backwards, trying to recollect when he last used it. The fact of the pencil's falling in the schoolroom the previous afternoon occurred to him, and he remembered that he was making pencil marks on a book with it when his man-servant came to call him out. What did he do with the pencil? Did he leave it on his table; or put it in his pocket; or carry it away in his hand? He could not tell. Here, it certainly was not at present; and the Head Master rose and went to his study himself. When called out of school the previous afternoon he had sat there for some time with the visitor, a gentleman named Townshend, who had come on business. Subsequently, he and Miss Brabazon had gone out to dinner: and, in short, his memory showed no trace of the pencil since he was using it in the hall. He could not find it in the study, and went to the sitting-room, interrupting his young daughter; who had quitted her French exercise to drop airy curtseys before the glass. "Rose, have you seen my gold pencil?" "Oh, papa," said Rose, demurely, making believe to be stooping down to tie her shoe. "Pencil-case! No, I've not seen it. Why, papa, you are always losing your things." A just charge, Miss Rose. The doctor, an absent man, often did mislay articles. "But they are always found again, papa, you know. As this will be." However nothing seemed so certain about it this time. The search for the pencil went on; and went on in vain. Quite a commotion arose in the house, especially in the hall, where the search was greatest. "It could not go without hands," said the doctor, after turning everything out of his desk-table. "If I had let it fall in getting up when I was called out yesterday, some of you would have heard it." One of the boys, and only one, affirmed that he saw the doctor with it in his hand as he left the hall. This was Trace: and there were few things Trace did not see with those drawn-together eyes of his. Dr. Brabazon believed Trace was mistaken. If he had carried the pencil away in his hand, he thought he should not fail to remember it; besides, others of them would surely have noticed it. Trace persisted: he said he saw the diamond gleam. Well, the pencil was gone. Gone! Dr. Brabazon looked out on the sea of faces, curious ideas hovering around his mind. He did not admit them; he would not have accused any of the boys for the world; no, nor suspected them. But it was very strange. The boys thought it so. First Talbot was shot, and now a diamond pencil (as they phrased it) was stolen. Had they got a black sheep amongst them? If so, who was it?