Some of the gentlemen-listeners’ faces turned as pale as Mr. Bill Simms’s; as pale as each conscience. Bywater was the first to gather courage. “It’s not obliged to be Charley Channing, if there is any one drowned.” “But it’s sure to be him,” chattered Simms, his teeth as crazy as his grammar. “Griffin junior says Arthur Channing went to their house last night at twelve, and said they couldn’t find Charley.” The consternation into which this news plunged the guilty ones is not easily described. A conviction that it _was_ Charles Channing who was drowned, overtook them all. Schoolboys are not quite without hearts, and they would have given all they possessed, in that moment, to see Charles come flying amongst them, as usual. Some of them began to wish they were without necks; for if Charles had come to an untimely end through their work, they might stand a chance of furnishing employment to the veritable Mr. Calcraft, on their own score. Tod Yorke came leaping up in delight. “Oh, wasn’t it good! The young one--” “Hold your noise, Tod! They are saying he’s dead.” “Who’s dead?” wondered Tod. “Charley Channing. A college boy was found in the river, drowned.” “Oh, that be hanged!” exclaimed Tod, half in mocking disbelief, half in awful fear. “It can’t be, you know. Who says it?” “There’s seven! We must go in, or Huntley will be on to us. Mind!” added Pierce senior, for he was the speaker, “we must all keep each other’s counsel, and be in one tale--that we know nothing at all about it.” They slunk into school. But that the senior boy was occupied with his new duty--the calling over of the roll--he might have observed that something was wrong. To play up a bit of mischief is the legitimate privilege of college boys; but to have led to a companion’s death is a terror-striking affair; and their countenances betrayed that it was so. Before the roll was finished, the head-master was in school. Tom Channing--it was late for him--entered afterwards. The master beckoned to him. “Is Charles found?” “No, sir. We cannot learn any tidings of him at all. We have not been to bed, any of us; and the police are searching also.” Had Tom Channing come from the other side of the Boundaries, near the boat-house, perhaps he might have been able to give a different account. The master made no comment then. He motioned Tom to his desk, and gave the word for prayers. As the boys were rising from their knees, Hamish Channing entered the school, attended by Mr. Ketch. Hamish approached the master, who shook hands with him. Ketch remained snarling and grinning defiance at the door, shaking his fist and his old teeth covertly at the boys. If looks could have blown up a room, the college school had certainly gone aloft then. “I hear you have not found the boy?” said the master to Hamish. “It is very singular.”