You'll get plenty of chance this term." "And yet," said Heathcote to himself, "this is the fellow everybody tells me is a beast to be fought shy of, and not trusted for a minute." He was almost tempted to interrogate Pledge point-blank on what it all meant; but his shyness prevented him.
Nothing occurred during the day to solve the mystery.

There was comparatively little to be done in the way of fagging; and what little there was, was amply compensated for by the help Pledge gave him in his Latin composition in the evening.
Later on, while Pledge was away somewhere, Heathcote was putting the books away on to the shelves, and generally tidying up the study, when the door partly opened, and a small round missive was tossed on to the floor of the room.
Heathcote regarded the intruder in a startled way, as if it had been some infernal machine; but presently took courage to advance and take the missive in his hand.

It was a small round cardboard box, about the size of a tennis ball, which, much to his surprise, bore his own name, printed in pen and ink, on the outside.

He opened it nervously, and found a note inside, also addressed to himself, which ran thus:-- "Heathcote .-- This is from a friend.

You are in peril.