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Updated: June 17, 2025
"Well, then, there's been a big fight, and I'm one of the only chaps who know about it so far." "A fight?" Harvey became excited. "Who between?" Renford paused before delivering his news, to emphasise the importance of it. "It was between O'Hara and Rand-Brown," he said at length. "By Jove!" said Harvey. Then a suspicion crept into his mind.
I was rather sick that you should think I wrote that rot you showed me. I hope you don't mind." "Not a bit. Do you mind my searching your study?" For a moment Rand-Brown looked vicious. Then he sat down with a laugh. "Go on," he said; "I see you don't believe me. Here are the keys if you want them." Trevor thanked him, and took the keys. He opened every drawer and examined the writing-desk.
"I shouldn't wonder if you're right," he said, "but of course one can't do anything yet. You want a lot more evidence. Anyhow, we must play him against Ripton, I suppose. Which is his study? I'll go and tell him now." "Ten." Trevor knocked at the door of study Ten. Rand-Brown was sitting over the fire, reading.
When Trevor called at Seymour's that afternoon to see Rand-Brown, with a view to challenging him to deadly combat, and found that O'Hara had been before him, he ought to have felt relieved. His actual feeling was one of acute annoyance. It seemed to him that O'Hara had exceeded the limits of friendship.
There's no one else." "Clowes thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to shove Strachan on the wing, and put somebody else back." "Who is there to put?" "Jervis?" "Not good enough. No, it's better to be weakish on the wing than at back. Besides, Rand-Brown may do all right. He played well against you." "Yes," said Trevor.
They kept having long rallies all over the place. O'Hara was a jolly sight quicker, and Rand-Brown didn't seem able to guard his hits at all. But he hit frightfully hard himself, great, heavy slogs, and O'Hara kept getting them in the face. At last he got one bang in the mouth which knocked him down flat.
"You've not looked inside the legs of the chairs yet," said Rand-Brown. "They may be hollow. There's no knowing." "It doesn't matter, thanks," said Trevor. "Sorry for troubling you. Don't forget tomorrow afternoon." And he went, with the very unpleasant feeling that he had been badly scored off.
But who the blazes is he?" "Nay, children, you have me there," quoted Clowes. "I'll tell you one thing, though. You remember what I said about it's probably being Rand-Brown. He can't have done this, that's certain, because he was out in the fields the whole time. Though I don't see who else could have anything to gain by Barry not getting his colours."
And yet he had often. For what he had caught was a little golden bat, about an inch long by an eighth of an inch wide. "What do you think of that?" said Clowes. Trevor said nothing. He could not quite grasp the situation. It was not only that he had got the idea so firmly into his head that it was Rand-Brown who had sent the letters and appropriated the bat.
"He's leaving at the end of the week," said O'Hara. "He was one of the fellows Dexter caught in the vault that evening. You won't see much more of Rand-Brown." "I'll try and put up with that," said Trevor. "And so will I," replied O'Hara. "And I shouldn't think Milton would be so very grieved." "No," said Trevor.
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