"You mean to say," said the judge, "you don't know what the orders to the fags were?" "No, really--I only heard of it from D'Arcy." "Your brother never said anything to you direct!" "Oh no." "Has he said anything since?" "Oh no; that is, he only said it was a pity Ranger got beaten." "Did he say how it happened?" "He said if the five Modern chaps hadn't turned up at the last moment, he'd have won." "Was he angry about it?" "He was rather in a wax." "Did he tell you you were an ass?" "Not that time." "Another time?" "Yes, once or twice." "'Cute chap, your brother," said Percy, aside. "Shut up, Wheatfield. Now tell me this, young Fisher major," said Dangle, with an air of importance which intimidated the prisoner; "what was it your brother said about the election?" "It wasn't to me, it was to Ranger, my senior. He said it was a regular sell, and he'd have given a lot to see you beaten, because he knew you couldn't play fair at anything, even if you tried." Some of the court were rude enough to laugh at this very candid confession; but the judge himself failed to see any humour in it. "Oh, that's what he said? And yet you mean to tell me, after that, that your brother had nothing to do with trying to get Ranger elected instead of me?" "I suppose he had; but I'm sure he didn't mean to do anything fishy, any more than I did. I thought it was only a joke." "You've a nice notion of a joke. That'll do, you can cut." "What!" exclaimed Percy, aghast, "aren't you going to hang him?" "No, I must go. You can finish the trial yourselves." As soon as the judge had quitted the bench, Percy mounted it, and proceeded to sum up. "You're a nice article, you are," said he, addressing the prisoner--"what do you mean by sneaking on my young brother, Wally, eh? You'll get it hot for that, I can tell you. You're to be hanged, drawn, and quartered; then you're to be kicked all round our side; then you're to be ducked in the river; then you're to kneel down and lick every chap's boots; then you're to be executed; then you're to be burnt alive; then you're to write out fifty Greek verbs; then you're-- Hallo, who's there? Come in! what do you want?" This abrupt curtailment of the prisoner's doom was occasioned by a modest tap at the door; probably some belated witness come to add his evidence to the rest, "Come in, can't you?" repeated Percy. Whereupon the door opened with a swing, and in rushed Wally, D'Arcy, Ashby, and three or four other Classic fags. How they had got wind of the capture of their man it would be hard to say; but now they had come to fetch him.