Jack came in whistling a jolly tune; he was in full bloom, for had he not now left all his cares behind him?

“You can cut, Hinton; and, Jack, take a chair and give me an explanation of this letter.”

Jack read Raffles’ letter through to the bitter end, and wished he had never been born.  Phil eyed his young brother, who had turned deathly white, with the horrible certainty that Jack had gone up to London.

“Then it’s true?” he said.

No answer.

“Jack, I know you could speak the truth once.  Look at me.  Did you go to London on Thursday night?”

“Yes,” said Jack, faintly.

“Did Acton take you?”

“Yes.”

“You know that if Dr. Moore hears of it he will expel you.”

“Yes.”

“You went to oblige Acton?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever think what pater would think if he heard about this?”

[Illustration:  “CUT, YOU MISERABLE PUPPY!”]

Jack, as a matter of course, had thought many a time of what his father would think about the business, and when Phil in that level voice of his recalled him to this terrible point he broke down.

“Phil, do not tell pater; he’d never forgive me!  Nor Corker.  Cut me into ribbons if you like, only don’t let me be expelled.”

“Here,” said Phil, “I don’t want any snivelling in my room.  Cut, you miserable puppy, to your own quarters, and when school is over keep to them till I come.  You’re a contemptible little puppy.”

Jack hurried out, crunching Raffles’ letter in his fist.  He went straight to Acton’s room, and, bursting in whilst Acton was drinking his last cup of coffee, blurted out the dismal news.  Jack was almost hysterical in his rage against Raffles.

“Acton, I believe that filthy blackmailer meant Phil to get that letter:  he wanted to round on me and get me into trouble.  Oh!” said Jack, in a very explosion of futile rage, “if I could only pound his ugly face into a jelly.”

“Well, perhaps you’ll have that pleasure one day, Jack.  I hope so, anyhow.  Now, straight, Jack, you need not be frightened of your brother saying a word.  He could never risk Corker hearing of it, for he could not bear the chance of expulsion, so he’ll lie low as far as Corker is concerned, take my word for it.  He may hand you over to your father, but that, too, I doubt.  He may give you a thrashing himself, which I fancy he will.”

“I don’t mind that,” said Jack.  “I deserve something.”

“No, you don’t, old man; and I’m fearfully sorry that I’ve got you into this hole.  But your brother will certainly interview me.”

“I suppose so,” said Jack, thoughtfully, even in his rage and shame.  “I hope there is no row between you;” for the idea of an open quarrel between Phil and Acton made Jack rather qualmish.

“You’d better cut now, Jack, and lie low till you find out when the hurricane is going to commence.”