“Carr wrote this.”
There was a moment’s utter stillness. At last Terence made a peculiar noise in his throat and turned contemptuously away. Rouse moved slowly towards Toby, and taking the note from him again looked at it once more.
Then he said:
“Carr? Why on earth should Carr write a thing like this?”
“Oh, you ass,” cried Terence, jumping up with a wild gesture. “Can’t you see it? Haven’t you tumbled yet? Why, good Lord, man! whose fag is Carr?”
“Coles’,” said Rouse, in a whisper.
“Yes,” repeated Terence, “Coles’.” He waited a moment. “And so,” he added, “Carr wrote that because he was made to. Hasn’t Coles got a hold on the kid? Didn’t Henry tell us that Carr was the only fellow who wasn’t delighted about the match? Do you wonder he wasn’t delighted when he knew he’d got to write something like this on the strength of it? Coles probably intended to send you a note like this anyway. The Head’s given him a better opening than he ever bargained for, that’s all. Carr wrote it, yes. And Coles made it up.”
Rouse turned very slowly upon his heel and faced him.
“Then,” said he, “if that’s so, it may have been Coles who let the Head know that all you fellows had promised to share the blame if there were any trouble about this match.”
“I should say it most certainly was. He probably told Roe and got him to pass it on.”