“It doesn’t much matter if I tell you,” said he, “only I mean to keep it dark from anybody else.”
“Who was it then?” inquired the master, with beating heart. “Tell me.”
“Why, you know!”
“I wish to hear the name from you, Arthur,” repeated the master.
“All right! Mark Railsford, Esquire, M.A. That’s the name, isn’t it?”
Railsford started back in his chair as if he had been shot, and stared at the boy.
“What! what do you say?—I?”
Arthur had never seen acting like it.
“All right, I tell you, it’s safe with me, I’ll keep it as dark as ditch-water.”
“Arthur, you’re either attempting a very poor joke, or you are making a most extraordinary mistake. Do you really mean to say that you believe it was I who attacked Mr Bickers?”