At last the suspicions against Elgood proceeded so far, that out of mere justice to him the heads of the house, Whalley, Kenrick, and Bliss, thought it right that he should be questioned. So, after tea, all the house assembled in the classroom, and Elgood was formally charged with the delinquency, and questioned about it, Wilton, in particular, urging him in almost a bullying tone to surrender and confess. The poor child was overwhelmed with terror—cried, blushed, answered incoherently, and lost his head, but would not for a moment confess that he had done it, and protested his innocence with many sobs and tears.
“Well, I suppose if he persists in denying it, we can’t go any further,” said Kenrick; “but I’m afraid, Elgood, that you must have had something to do with it, as every one seems to see ground for suspecting you.”
“Oh, I hadn’t, I hadn’t; indeed I hadn’t,” wailed Elgood; “I wish you wouldn’t say so, Kenrick; indeed I’m innocent, and I’d rather write home for the money ten times over than be suspected.”
“So would any one, you little fool,” said Wilton.
“Don’t bully him in that way, Wilton,” said Whalley; “it’s not the way to get the truth out of him. Elgood, I should have thought you innocent, if you didn’t behave so oddly.”
“May I speak?” modestly asked a new voice. The speaker was Charlie Evson.
“Yes, certainly,” said Kenrick, in an encouraging tone.
“Well then, please, Kenrick, and the whole of you, I think you have had the truth out of him; and I think he is innocent.”
“Why, Charlie?” said Whalley; “what makes you think so?”
“Because I’ve asked him, and talked to him privately about it,” said Charlie; “when you frighten him he gets confused, and contradicts himself, but he can explain whatever looks suspicious if you ask him kindly and Quietly.”