"I suppose you realize, Cato," said Vanda gravely, "exactly what your startling interruption this evening means to you? Probably by to-morrow morning the whole school will have made up its mind that it was you who were the culprit."
Duane looked at the floor.
"Yes; I do now. I didn't realize it at the time."
"No. I don't suppose you meant to give yourself away like that. There are two courses open to you. Either you must prove your innocence or else own up to your guilt—if you are guilty."
"Prove my innocence? And how can I do that, pray?"
"You should know best."
"But I don't."
"Anyway, it's plain enough that you know more about it than anyone else. You admitted Kitty didn't do it—and you had the key. Look here, Duane, did you lend it to another girl whom you don't like to give away? It's the only alternative solution I can think of."
"No," said Duane impatiently, "or I should have said so at the inquiry." Then with a successful return to her old airy flippancy, she added, "Well, good night, everybody. I really can't be held responsible for all the crazy conclusions the kids in this school jump to."
The three prefects looked at each other as the door closed upon Duane.