"There isn't one. Did ever you see a guilty boy return to face his school after committing a crime of this nature? Never! Does that police sergeant look as if he had a possible prisoner behind him? Humbug, Axim! Susanne's face is sufficient to inform you that he has a tale of his own to tell us."
And Susanne had. The tall, broad-shouldered Frenchman looked positively brimming over with happiness, though there was an air of seriousness about him which showed that he also had some trouble. The same might be said of Trendall. But Masters was ever notorious for the openness of his feelings and opinions. He was absolutely truculent at this instant when the procession had arrived at the dais. He transfixed Mr. Axim with a glance which made that unfortunate and ill-advised gentleman wish that he had never had any dealings with this matter. Then all eyes were turned on the Head.
"With your permission, sir," said Susanne, halting at the edge of the dais and addressing the master with becoming respect, "with your permission we will mount the dais. We have information to give you. But first it would be as well to tell us what has been passing here in our absence."
The Head waved him up with a quick gesture. The lines were still drawn deep across his forehead, but there was, nevertheless, something approaching a look of relief. "You've arrived in the nick of time," he said. "Let me explain what has happened. I have made an announcement as to Clive Darrell. Seymour Primus, applauded by the School without exception, has traversed the evidence against him and has demanded delay in this unfortunate matter. To that I have agreed. Then, but a few seconds before your arrival, I begged that if any boy were present here who knew himself guilty he should for his conscience' sake and for Clive Darrell's honour at once come forward. Not a boy has stirred. That is the position."
Susanne mounted the dais slowly and deliberately. Those who knew him would have sworn that he was reluctant to speak, and yet he had information to give which would clear Clive's character entirely. He glanced down those expectant lines thoughtfully.
"Er—you fellows," he said, "I've—that is, we went in search of Clive. We were dead certain he was innocent."
Someone started a cheer just to encourage Susanne, for he was but a poor speaker.
"He was supposed to have bolted from the school with the idea of hiding himself. He hadn't. He went direct to the police station."
There was silence. Boys looked at one another. Some of the seniors wagged their heads.
"Bravo, Clive!" cried Mr. Branson, unable longer to contain himself, and then subsided, for the Head had fixed an indignant gaze on him. The police sergeant at once stepped forward. "Fact, gentlemen," he said. "At eight fifty-two he turns up. Of course I had heard of the night's happening. 'Arrest me, sergeant,' he says. 'I've been expelled for setting fire to Ranleigh.' Gentlemen, I didn't believe him."