“I’m not,” he cried; “I never wrote a line.”
“Now we’re getting at it,” said Clowes. “I thought you couldn’t have had it in you to carry this business through on your own. Apparently you’ve only been the sleeping partner in this show, though I suppose it was you who ragged Trevor’s study? Not much sleeping about that. You took over the acting branch of the concern for that day only, I expect. Was it you who ragged the study?”
Ruthven stared into the fire, but said nothing.
“Must be polite, you know, Ruthven, and answer when you’re spoken to. Was it you who ragged Trevor’s study?”
“Yes,” said Ruthven.
“Thought so.”
“Why, of course, I met you just outside,” said Trevor, speaking for the first time. “You were the chap who told me what had happened.”
Ruthven said nothing.
“The ragging of the study seems to have been all the active work he did,” remarked Clowes.
“No,” said Trevor, “he posted the letters, whether he wrote them or not. Milton was telling me—you remember? I told you. No, I didn’t. Milton found out that the letters were posted by a small, light-haired fellow.”