He tugged at the cord promptly, and somewhere far away in the depths of the house Clive heard an answering clang, repeated some five or six times. Mr. Axim went to the door and closed it, standing afterwards with his back to it.
"I'll not soil my fingers any longer," he said. "You can stand over there in the opposite corner. No. Leave the candle. A desperate young ruffian such as you are might easily complete the job I managed fortunately to disturb. Now, a clean breast of the whole business will be the only course for you to follow."
Clive scowled at him, and then closely inspected his surroundings. As he had suspected, there was a pile of papers in one corner, from which came the strong odour of paraffin. Everything, in fact, was ready for the conflagration. It merely wanted the match, and that at least he had been instrumental in preventing. Suddenly there was a tap at the door. The Head of Ranleigh entered. Slowly his eyes passed from the figure of Mr. Axim to that of Clive. He sniffed heavily, turning his head in all directions. Then, as if he had more than half gripped the situation, his pale and impassive face became suddenly paler in the candle light, while he wore an unusually stern expression. Crossing to the wide table on which his papers were neatly arranged and ticketed, he drew his writing chair nearer and sat down, resting his forehead on his hands. And thus he remained for a few moments, as if anxious to put his thoughts from him. It was with a fierce "Well?" that he finally addressed Mr. Axim.
"This is the end of the trouble," said the latter. "You have had fires at the school. The matter has been a mystery. There is the culprit. Clive Darrell."
"And you?" asked the Head severely, turning upon our hero. "You admit this fact? You agree that Mr. Axim discovered you in the act of setting fire to these premises? Answer at once. Are you responsible for the whole of this wicked business?"
"Decidedly not. There has been a mistake, sir," said Clive, hardly knowing where to commence his story.
"A mistake! Of course," laughed Mr. Axim hoarsely. "There always is an error in these affairs, no matter whether the culprit be discovered candle in hand, in the midst of heaped-up papers saturated with paraffin!"
"You were found like that, Darrell?" asked the Head, sadly enough.
Clive nodded. He glared across at Mr. Axim defiantly. "I admit the fact," he said curtly. "But I am not the culprit. Mr. Axim has been too clever, for he has merely come upon the scene after I had discovered what was happening. I followed someone here. I wasn't sure what was happening, though I had my suspicions. I came down the passage and was about to enter the room when this fellow suddenly put his electric torch on me. There was darkness a second later. He knocked me over, and sent my torch flying. I chased him down the corridor and then lost sight of him. Thinking that he might have returned here, I came back again. That was the moment when Mr. Axim proved so clever."
The latter gasped. Clive's effrontery made him positively giddy.