"No, Mr. Lightstone...."
"You sound uncertain. Think carefully, Mallison." The principal put the packet on his desk and unfolded it. Everyone bent forward and looked at it—including Mallison, who shook his head again.
Dax leaned across Mrs. Lightstone and whispered to her husband, "Did you have it analyzed?"
The principal shook his head impatiently. "Not yet! There was no one in the Chemistry Department!" He cleared his throat importantly. "Well? What have you to say?"
Mallison apparently had nothing to say. He swallowed and looked at one of the boys next him. Mr. Lightstone leaned back in his chair and turned to address the group on his right—the school board man in particular. "This," he said, tapping the packet, "was thrown out of a window of the physics class room today. These are the boys that sit next those windows. I have every reason to suspect Mallison."
The group nodded. Dax realized that they had been briefed in advance. The boy Mallison had certainly a sulky and uncooperative air. He seemed the epitome of juvenile delinquency on the defensive, and yet....
"You," the principal said to the boys, "are a little band of trouble-makers. You cut classes, you stay up late and go to what I believe you call juke-joints. I have heard reports of your riding in hot-rods!" He paused significantly.
"None of us here's got a car," Mallison said in a flat voice. He was definitely sneering now. "I've never even seen a real drag-race!"
Mr. Lightstone blinked. The word was unfamiliar to him, but it had a disreputable ring to it. "And I suppose you've never taken narcotics?"