“I don’t wonder. You did it splendidly. Whatever put all the things into your head?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Arthur, getting a little “tilted” with all this flattery from a senior. “It was a notion I had.”
“Not half a bad notion,” said Felgate, beginning to think the game was worth following up. “Not one fellow in a dozen would have thought about that match-box up on the ledge.”
“That’s just it. It must have been a tall chap to put it up there.”
“Of course, unless someone got on a chair.”
“I thought of that,” responded Arthur grandly; “only there were one or two other things to come out if I’d had time. I say, do you know when it’s adjourned to?”
“I don’t know. I hope not for long. I’d like to hear what else you’ve got. I could never make up such things to save my life.”
“Perhaps I didn’t make them up,” said Arthur, who felt that for once in a way thorough justice was being done to his own cleverness.
“You don’t mean you can produce the actual match-box? Why, you ought to be made Attorney-General or Lord Chancellor.”
“Can’t I, though, I can!” said Arthur, “and something else too. Suppose we’d found the door was kept open with a wedge of paper addressed in a certain handwriting to a certain name—eh? and suppose the sack had the initials on it of the same fellow that the paper and match-box belonged to—eh? That would make a pretty hot case for our side, wouldn’t it?”