Sir Thomas rang the bell violently.
“Bring me the evening papers,” he demanded.
“Oh, my dear Thomas, please——” Lady Aviolet’s remonstrance was almost emphatic.
“I’d rather know,” said her husband gruffly.
The others sat silent while he scanned the printed sheets. Two he threw aside with a sort of mutter that might have denoted relief. The third one was in Ford’s hands.
“Here you are,” he said quietly, and adjusted his pince-nez.
“‘Undergraduate’s Thefts.... Baronet’s heir pleads guilty.... False inscriptions on stolen goods....’ Oh, Lord, have they got hold of that?”
“What?” said his mother, distressed and obtuse.
Ford read aloud in a rapid undertone:
Some extraordinary inscriptions had been engraved upon the stolen trophies, setting forth the prisoner’s wonderful prowess at games and sport. These were totally untrue and had been engraved at the accused’s own expense. It was stated that a document, in the prisoner’s own handwriting, was found, purporting to represent an inscription: “To Cecil Aviolet, Esq., in most grateful recognition of his daring achievements, splendid leadership, and indomitable courage and devotion to duty, this cup is presented in grateful admiration by the members of the School Cadet Corps.” This was entirely false, and was no doubt destined to take place eventually amongst the other fictitious engravings devised and paid for by the accused.