“We don’t want all that,” said Ainger sternly. “What we want to know is, did you do it yourself, and if not who else was in it?”
“Of course I couldn’t do it myself. You couldn’t, strong as you are.”
“You helped, then?”
“I had nothing to do with the—the scragging,” said Munger. “I—Oh, I say, Ainger, you aren’t going to get me expelled, surely? Do let us off this time!”
“I’m not the head-master; you’ll have to ask him that. Your only chance is to make a clean breast of it at once. What was it you did?”
“I only opened the door of the boot-box, and helped drag him in. I had nothing to do with the scragging. Branscombe did all that himself, and Clipstone hung to his legs.”
It needed all the self-control of the three prefects to refrain from an exclamation of astonishment at this wonderful disclosure.
“Are you telling the truth?” demanded Ainger.
“I am—I swear it—I never even knew what they meant to do till an hour before. It was Clipstone’s idea, and I—owed him money for betting, and he had a pull on me, and made me do it. But I swear I never touched Bickers except to help pull him in.”
“Now, one question more. Was there anyone else in it, but just you three?”