There was a dead silence. Mallison clamped his mouth shut, and his face became wooden.
Mr. Lightstone addressed the boy next him. "Have you ever seen any of the boys use this?" He tapped the packet again. "Did you see Mallison throw it out of the window? You sit behind him!"
The boy looked blank and glanced at Mallison. "No, sir," he said.
"But you couldn't have missed seeing him!"
"Excuse me a minute," Dax said. "These boys aren't a band exactly. They just happen to sit next the windows."
Mr. Lightstone looked offended but resourceful. "They picked those seats themselves. That's what a clique does. It—"
"I assign all the pupils to their desks," Dax said, and felt he was turning pink.
The principal took this in his stride by ignoring it. "And you," he said to the boy on Mallison's other side. "What have you to say?"
The boy frowned and stuttered.
Dax was beginning to feel annoyed although he didn't know exactly why. For one thing, he had let himself seem to be defending Mallison. It was his craze for accuracy, of course. "I don't understand why the parents of these boys aren't here," he was surprised to hear himself say. "It seems to me they ought to have some kind of defense counsel if there is going to be a trial."