To my surprise and alarm, when he came up to my bed he stopped short, and drawing a letter from his pocket, put it into my hand, saying-- "Put that under your pillow till the morning." It was more than nature could do to sleep with a mystery like this on the top of my misery. I listened to the clock as it struck the hours through the night, and thought the day would never come. Indeed, the getting-up bell had sounded before the winter sun struggled in through the dormitory window. Then by the light of a candle I seized the missive from under my pillow and tore it open. A five-pound note fell out, and with it the following letter. "You have made a nice mess of it, and ought to be happy. The least you can do is to try to make things right for Tempest. Call round on the following six tradesmen (giving the six names, one of which was Marple) early to-morrow, and pay Tempest's bill at each, and bring home the receipts. You needn't mention who sent you. Send the receipts to me, and if Tempest asks any questions, tell him you paid the money by request of a friend. "W. Crofter." CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. I AM ADVISED TO LIE LOW. My first impulse on reading Crofter's letter was to jump for joy. It meant that Tempest would stay at Low Heath, and that I was to be allowed to assist in keeping him there. But my second thoughts were more of a surprise than pleasure. Crofter was a mystery to me. His fellow-seniors disliked him, and warned me against him. But, as far as I could see, he was not as bad as they made him out, and certainly never said anything as bad about them as they said about him. What could be his object now if it was not a disinterested one? He would be permanent captain of the house if Tempest left, and yet he was doing the very thing that would keep Tempest at school. Tempest had openly insulted him during the term, and yet here he was helping his enemy out of a very tight place. I knew he was well off, so probably he could afford the £5; but at the end of the term pocket-money was not a plentiful commodity. He said nothing about being paid back, too; surely he did not mean to make Tempest a free gift of this magnificent amount! The more I thought it over the more I felt Crofter was a brick, and had been scandalously misunderstood. He seemed to me a true type of the virtuous man, who, when struck on one cheek, turns the other, and when robbed of his coat offers his cloak too. I only hoped Tempest might know what he owed him. In short, in the brief time it took me to dress, I had worked myself up into a state of enthusiasm on the subject of Crofter.