“And no one else did?”
“I didn’t see any one, sir.”
“Did you lock your door when you went to bed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was it locked when you woke this morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Graham rested his forehead on his finger tips and gazed for a few moments into the fire. He was a wise man, exceptionally successful in ruling boys, largely because he treated them with common sense and justice, neither suspecting them unnecessarily nor by guileless benevolence inviting deceit. As he always made it a point whenever he dealt personally with the boys to state his views with a clearness impossible to misunderstand, and never to act until he was sure of his premises, he was never charged with underhand dealing, and made few mistakes.
In the present case the Principal’s caution served him well. He had already visited Mrs. Winter and learned that she herself tried Marchmont’s door at 10 P.M., and found it bolted within—it had no key. Marchmont, therefore, was beyond suspicion. It followed, then, that Salter was lying, or that John Drown, the man who had reported the entry by the window, was mistaken, or that all the facts in the case were not yet known. From his knowledge of Salter and Drown, Mr. Graham inclined to the last supposition.
“Salter,” he said, looking fixedly at the boy’s confused face, “you are keeping something back that I ought to know. What is it?”
Salter made no reply,—what reply could he make without telling the whole truth or lying?—but stared at the floor while his face burned hotter and his eyes swam, and a lump formed in his throat.