"The business of authority," was Mr. Henry's answer, delivered with calm decision. "So long as I hold the position of master here, I shall act as such when need arises. Gentlemen,"—and he looked at both equally—"there must be no more of this." "You need not be alarmed on your friend's behalf," said Loftus, with an ugly stress on the word "friend." "You, Gall,"—and he turned to him—"shall answer to me for this, later." They moved away in different directions, Gall one road, Loftus another, Mr. Henry a third; and the astonished boys stood, looking after them with a vacant stare, hardly able to believe that the transitory scene had been real. CHAPTER XII. In the Shop in Oxford Street. Miss Brabazon was walking through Oxford Street on that memorable afternoon, taking her time, as befitted the heat of the day, and looking into the shop windows; which, truth to say, bore attraction for her, as they do for most persons who see them rarely. "I daresay I could get it here," she thought, halting at a jeweller's shop and finally entering it. A double shop with two separate doors, but Miss Brabazon did not observe that. She had broken the key of her watch and wanted a new one, but wished it of a particular pattern. A middle-aged, pleasant-looking man came forward, whom she took to be the master. Yes, he had keys of the shape she described, he said, and reached out a tray. While he was fitting the key to the watch, Miss Brabazon's eyes went roaming (naturally) amidst the many attractive articles of plate and jewelry. They alighted on a gold pencil with a diamond set in the top. Except that the stone was considerably smaller, it was very much like the one lost from the college. "That is a beautiful pencil!" she exclaimed. "Very, ma'am. The diamond makes it also a valuable one." "Is it not very unusual to see a diamond set in a pencil-case?" "Rather so," he replied. "I have made them to order before now. We have a better one than that, but it's not for sale. Not yet, at least. It is one of our pledges in the other shop; was left with us some months back." "Do you mean it was—pawned?" she asked, bringing out the word gingerly, as ladies in general do. "Yes, ma'am." "But—is this a pawnbroker's?" she hastily asked. "The other shop is, ma'am." A thousand thoughts came crowding over her; a suspicion arose, almost amounting to an instinct, that it was the pencil they had lost. "When was it left with you, do you say?" she inquired. "Some time last autumn; either in September or October." "I wish you would let me see it," she exclaimed. "It is quite against all rule, ma'am, to show our pledged goods," was the reply of the jeweller.