“Oh!” said Simon, not at all put about by this rough handling—“why, don’t you know? we know who took it, we do; but we’re all going to—”
But at this point Simon’s speech was interrupted, for the very good reason that Loman’s grip on his throat became so very tight that the wretched poet nearly turned black in the face.
With another oath the Sixth Form boy exclaimed, “Who took it?”
“Why—don’t you know?—oh!—oh, I say, mind my throat!—haven’t you heard?—why, Greenfield senior, you know!”
Loman let go his man suddenly and stared at him.
“Greenfield senior?” he exclaimed in amazement.
“Yes; would you have thought it? None of us would—we’re all going to hush it up, you know, honour bright we are.”
“Who told you he took it?”
“Why, you know, I saw him;” and here Simon giggled jubilantly, to mark what astonishment his disclosure was causing.
“You saw him take it?” asked Loman, astounded.