A grey dusky morning, enveloped in fog, succeeded to the fine night. Before seven o’clock--so watchful and alert are boys when mischief is afloat--most of those who had been in the conspiracy were assembled, and waiting round the schoolroom doors. Generally, they could tear up at the twelfth moment. They would not have missed the sight of Charles Channing’s arrival for half-a-crown apiece, so curious were they to see how he looked, after his fright. As it happened, it was not at any of their homes that inquiries had been made the previous night; not one of them was, to say, intimate with Charley: they were most of them older than he. Consequently, they knew nothing of the search. Tod Yorke, who did know of it, had not yet arrived. Of all the king’s scholars, none were marked late more frequently than Master Tod. The senior boy had gone to the head-master’s for the keys as usual, and now came down the cloisters, clanking them in his hand. “Has Charles Channing turned up?” he called out, before he was well abreast of them. Pierce senior choked away his inclination to laughter, which the sound of the name excited, and saucy Bywater answered. “Where should he turn up from, Huntley? Has he been swallowed?” “Hamish Channing came to our house last night, ages after I was in bed, saying they couldn’t find him,” replied Huntley. “What was in the wind last night with old Calcraft?” The boys looked at him demurely; and Huntley, receiving no reply, unlocked the schoolroom and entered it. They remained behind, winking at each other, and waiting still for Charles. It wanted yet a few minutes to seven. “I say, what d’ye think?” whispered Bywater. “After I had got our sheet smuggled in, all right, and was putting it on the bed, I found two big holes burnt in it. Won’t there be a commotion when my old aunt finds it out! She’ll vow I have been reading in bed. That was you, Pierce senior!” “I’m sure I never burnt it,” retorted Pierce. “It was the flame did it, if anything.” “Here comes Bill Simms!” exclaimed Bywater, when their smothered laugh was over. “What has he been doing to himself? He’s as white as the ghost!” Mr. Bill Simms assuredly did look white. He had a pale face at the best of times, and it was embellished with straw-coloured hair. But at the present moment it had turned ghastly, and his frame seemed shaking as he came along. “What on earth has taken you, Simms?” demanded Hurst. “Oh, goodness!” uttered Simms. “I wish I was well out of this! They are saying there’s a college boy drowned!” “What?” cried the boys, gathering round him. “There was a crowd down by the boat-house as I came along,” responded Simms, as well as he could speak for his chattering teeth. “I asked a fellow what it was, and he said he didn’t rightly know, but he thought one of the college boys had been found drowned in the water.”