"A pack of lies," he cried. "If there had been a struggle you would have heard it. Of course he lost sight of this fellow in the corridor, simply because he never existed."
"Silence, please," commanded the Head, lifting a shaking finger. "Clive Darrell, you state that you discovered an incendiary at work. You had a torch. You chased this man. You no doubt saw him. Then give the name. Was it one of my Ranleighans?"
"Yes," came the prompt answer. "I feel sure it was one, though I'm sorry to have to admit it. But who, that's another question."
Mr. Axim sniggered. Clive could willingly have kicked him. The Head's pale face took on a sterner appearance.
"You saw and followed, and admit that this miscreant was a Ranleighan," he said icily. "Then you can also give the name of the individual."
"No. I refuse. In my own mind my suspicions are so strong that I feel certain. But I never saw his face. I'll condemn no one on such evidence. I regret I am unable to give you the name of the fellow."
Mr. Axim laughed again, causing the Head to frown. Clive crossed his arms over his chest and confronted his questioners. And then the master who had come upon him stepped up to his side, took the candle and slowly inspected him.
"Rubber shoes, for silence of course," he reported. "Got a sweater on, for warmth, ditto a dressing-gown. Smells strongly of paraffin, and has a box of matches in his pocket."
His elevated eyebrows were more than expressive. He looked at his senior as much as to say, "The evidence is conclusive. This boy is a liar."
But Ranleigh's Head was not the one to condemn without a searching investigation. He had thrown himself back in his chair, and was staring now at the candle. He was terribly grieved, if the truth be known, most terribly disappointed. For Clive was an especial favourite. He could have sworn that the young fellow was honest and upright. Besides, this was the act of a fanatic. Clive wasn't that. He was a decidedly level-headed fellow.