After a time they came out together like long-lost brothers, Mellish
with his hand on Bradshaw's shoulder. It was some small comfort to me
to remember that Bradshaw had the greatest dislike to this sort of
thing.

It was evident that Bradshaw, able exponent of the art of fiction that
he was, must have excelled himself on this occasion. I tried to get the
story out of him in the study that evening. White and Kendal assisted.
We tried persuasion first. That having failed, we tried taunts. Then we
tried kindness. Kendal sat on his legs, and I sat on his head, and
White twisted his arm. I think that we should have extracted something
soon, either his arm from its socket or a full confession, but we were
interrupted. The door flew open, and Prater (the same being our
House-master, and rather a good sort) appeared.

'Now then, now then,' he said. Prater's manner is always abrupt.

'What's this? I can't have this. I can't have this. Get up at once.
Where's Bradshaw?'

I rose gracefully to my feet, thereby disclosing the classic features
of the lost one.

'The Headmaster wants to see you at once, Bradshaw, at the School
House. You others had better find something to do, or you will be
getting into trouble.'

He and Bradshaw left together, while we speculated on the cause of the
summons.