To the Triple Alliance hours seemed to pass before a shuffling of feet in the passage announced the arrival of the Thurstonians. One by one they filed into the room, the door was shut, and there was a moment of awful silence. Even Diggory trembled, and Allingford, noticing it, laid his big hand reassuringly on the small boy's shoulder.
"I wish to know," began the doctor, "which of you boys were concerned in what took place last night? I refer, of course, to the screwing up of Mr. Grice's bedroom door."
No one spoke, but Fletcher turned pale to the lips.
"Had you anything to do with it, Fletcher?"
"No, sir."
"Then will you tell me the meaning of this?" continued the head-master, holding up the cipher note.
"I—I don't know what it means," began the prefect.
"Don't lie to me, sir," interrupted the doctor sternly. "You know very well what it means; it's of your own invention."
Thurston saw clearly that the game was up, and with the recklessness of despair decided at once to accept the inevitable.
"I screwed up Mr. Grice's door," he said sullenly.