"I suppose," continued John Dixon, still as if Mr. Fox-Cordery had not spoken, "that most boys set up for themselves a code of honor which they stick to, more or less, according to their idea of things. I remember I did; I am quite sure poor Bob Grantham did; I don't know whether you did, because you were so secretive, so very secretive. I leave you out, Fox, for a cogent reason. I guess, as our American cousins say, you are not in it when I speak of honor; and in making this observation you will perceive that I have no desire to conciliate you or to win your favor. Now, old fellow, there were only three boys in the whole of that school--and there were thirty-five of us--who knew what became of Bob Grantham's money." "Three persons!" "Just three persons, and no more. The first was poor Bob himself, the second was Fox-Cordery, the third was John Dixon." "Indeed! You?" "I, on the honor of a gentleman." Mr. Fox-Cordery's lips curled in derision as he remarked: "No man in the world would give you the credit of being one. And pray, where did Mr. Grantham's money go to?" "Into your pockets, Fox, as regularly as a clockwork machine." "A precious secret, truly," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, flicking a speck of dust off his sleeve, "and a most valuable one for you to have preserved all these years. I presume if a man, or a schoolboy, is weak enough to lend his money he has a right to receive it back." "An indubitable right; but in this case there is no question of borrowing and paying back. Would you like to hear how I came into a knowledge of this mystery?" "I have no desire; it is quite immaterial to me."