"I asked you what you knew about the accident—if it were an accident?"
Hepson pursued coldly.
"Your 'if,' sir, is insulting!"
Then there came to the spot a presence that could not be treated with anger. Lieutenant-Commander Havens was determined to know the truth.
"Mr. Jetson, had you anything in your possession, or did you wear anything, that could cut Mr. Damn's face like that?" demanded the head coach.
"Nothing, sir, unless the sole of one of my shoes was responsible," returned Jetson, barely concealing his anger under a mask of respect to an officer of the Navy.
"Let me see your shoes; sit down on the ground first, Mr. Jetson."
The midshipman obeyed, though with no very good grace, and held up his right shoe for the inspection of the head coach.
"Now the other shoe, Mr. Jetson. Hm! Yes; along the inner sole of this shoe there are signs of what looks very much like blood. See here, Mr. Hepson."
"Yes, sir; most certainly this is a streak of blood rubbed into the leather along this rather sharp edge of the sole."
"May I suggest, Mr. Havens," hinted Jetson, "that something else may have scratched Mr. Darrin's face, and that the blood trickled to my shoe? I was under Mr. Darrin, somewhat, sir, in the scrimmage when the bunch went down."