“You are not called upon to state your beliefs. But we can go into that at viva voce this afternoon—if it interests you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What did you do that for?” Paddy Vernon demanded at dinner.
“It’s the lost tribes of Israel game, you ass,” said Howell.
“To make sure,” Stalky amplified. “If he was like King, he’d have shut up Beetle an’ Turkey at the start, but he’d have thought King gave us the Bacon notion. Well, he didn’t shut ’em up; so they’re playin’ it again this afternoon. If he stands it then, he’ll be sure King gave us the notion. Either way, it’s dead-safe for us—an’ King.”
At the afternoon’s viva voce, before they sat down to the Augustans, the Examiner wished to hear, “with no bearing on the examination, of course,” from those two candidates who had asked him about Question Seven. Which were they?
“Take off your gigs, you owl,” said Stalky between his teeth. Beetle pocketed them and looked into blurred vacancy with a voice coming out of it that asked: “Who—what gave you that idea about Shakespeare?” From Stalky’s kick he knew the question was for him.
“Some people say, sir, there’s a good deal of doubt about it nowadays, sir.”
“Ye-es, that’s true, but——”
“It’s his knowin’ so much about legal phrases,” Turkey was in support—a lone gun barking somewhere to his right.