The bishop found Augustine in the garden, squirting whale-oil solution on the rose-bushes, for he was an enthusiastic horticulturist. He placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder.
'Mulliner,' he said, 'do not think that I have not detected your hidden hand behind this astonishing occurrence.'
'Eh?' said Augustine. 'What astonishing occurrence?'
'As you are aware, Mulliner, last night, from motives which I can assure you were honourable and in accord with the truest spirit of sound Churchmanship, the Rev. Trevor Entwhistle and I were compelled to go out and paint old Fatty Hemel's statue pink. Just now, in the headmaster's study, a boy confessed that he had done it. That boy, Mulliner, was your brother.
'Oh yes?'
'It was you who, in order to save me, inspired him to that confession. Do not deny it, Mulliner.'
Augustine smiled an embarrassed smile.
'It was nothing, Bish, nothing at all.'
'I trust the matter did not involve you in any too great expense. From what I know of brothers, the lad was scarcely likely to have carried through this benevolent ruse for nothing.'