"You are quite right, sir," said the constable, admiringly.
"I frequently am," rejoined the Head, complacently. "But to return to the point: has the identity of the victim been established?"
"Yes, sir, the gentleman is Sir Silas Gwinnear. You might have heard of him, sir."
Leslie Trematon gave an exclamation of surprise. Atherton, equally astonished, could hardly realise the news. It seemed like a dream. Only a few days previously Sir Silas had written expressing his opinion of the Scout movement in emphatic terms of disapproval, and now, by the irony of fate, he owed his life to a Scout's promptitude and bravery.
"What is the matter, Mr Trematon?" asked the Head, who could not fail to notice the Scoutmaster's ejaculation of astonishment.
"I happen to know Sir Silas, sir," he replied. "He was a friend of my father's. Only the day before yesterday he wrote to me."
"And how is Sir Silas?" asked the Rev. Septimus, addressing the policeman.
"Getting along finely, sir, considering he's not a young man by any means."
"And his assailants?"
"No trace of them, sir. One of our men found these articles of clothing and took them to the station. A letter addressed to Master Atherton was in one of the pockets, so the Inspector sent me here to make enquiries. Is this the lad, sir?"