“I know who wrote it,” said Rouse. “I’m asking you whether you made it up.”
Coles weighed his answer with care.
“If I wanted to write a note to you I should put my name to it. This has been written by some kid.”
Rouse folded the paper up and put it in his pocket with some deliberation.
“We won’t argue about it. I didn’t really expect you to admit the truth. But I wanted to mention it to you so that you’d understand what the trouble was about. There’s another thing as well. Can you tell me how the Head found out that everybody who played in the match yesterday had promised to take a fair share of the blame if there were any trouble?”
“I wasn’t even aware that he did find out.”
“Well, he did. And that’s one reason why he decided to punish the whole school by sending Mr Nicholson away. I suppose, as a matter of fact, you told Roe?”
Coles pushed his chair angrily away from him and faced Rouse across a clear space. When next he spoke his voice was thick. His wicked temper was rising rapidly beyond control.
“Is this all you came in for? Did you butt in here and wake me up just to chuck lies at me, or is there anything else you want to say? If not you can get out, and as quickly as you like. You may think you’re still captain of footer, and you may think sheer swank will carry you through to the end of the term. But it won’t go much further with me. I’ve had enough of it. Either get out or apologise.”
