Glyn uttered a kind of gasp, and then, making a tremendous effort, the power to speak returned, and he cried, “Oh no, sir; I am quite well, only—only I am in great trouble, and I want to speak to you.”
“Indeed!” said the Doctor gravely, as he placed his elbows upon the table, joined his finger-tips, and looked over them rather sadly at his visitor. “I am glad you have come, my boy,” he continued gently, “for I like my pupils to look up to me as if for the time being I stood in the place of their parents. Now then, speak out. What is it? Some fresh quarrel between you and Mr Slegge?”
“No, sir,” cried Glyn. “It’s about that dreadful business of Singh’s belt.”
“Ah!” said the Doctor, rather more sharply. “You know something about it?”
“Yes, sir. It’s about that I have come. About people being wrongfully suspected, and all the unpleasantry.”
“Indeed!” said the Doctor, and he now spoke rather coldly. “You know, Severn, where it is?”
“I—I think so, sir. Yes, sir,” continued the boy, speaking more firmly, “and I want to tell you all I do know.”
The Doctor fixed his eyes rather sternly now, for a strange suspicion was entering his mind, due to the boy’s agitated manner and his hesitating, half-reticent speech.
“Well,” he said, “go on; and I beg, my boy, that you tell me everything without reservation, though I am sorry, deeply grieved, that you should have to come and speak to me like this.”
Glyn seemed to breathe far more freely now, and as if the nervous oppression at his breast had passed away.