"I answered the K.C. truthfully, Greg. I told him all that I really know. I didn't feel called upon, and wasn't asked, to tell him anything that I guessed."
"What is your guess?" insisted Holmes, with the privilege of a friend.
"Greg, as far as I can be sure of anything without knowing it, I am absolutely certain that a cadet came out of the car, behind me, and that he pushed me off the platform."
"A cadet?" demanded Greg, turning pale. To Holmes it seemed atrocious to couple the word cadet with any act of dishonor.
"Greg, as I plunged through the air, I succeeded in turning a trifle. I am convinced, in my own mind, that I saw the gray cape overcoat of a cadet I am also certain that I got a glimpse of his face. The only limit to my certainty is that I wouldn't want to name the man under oath."
"Who was he?" demanded Holmes.
Advancing, placing his lips against one of Greg's ears, Prescott whispered the name:
"Haynes! But you mustn't breathe this to a living soul! Remember,
I wouldn't dare swear to the truth of what I've hinted to you."
Greg Holmes, wholly and utterly loyal to the cadet corps of which he was himself an honored member, went even paler. He leaned back against the wall, clenching his fists tightly.
"Haynes?" he whispered. "I don't like the fellow, and I never did. He's no friend of yours, either, Dick. But he wears the staunch old cadet uniform and has had more than three years of the West Point traditions. It seems impossible, Dick. Had anyone else but you told me this, even against Haynes, I would have turned on my heel and walked away."