“What,” said I, “don’t you know what a blazer is? Anybody knows that. It’s what you have in the fields.”
“Come, young gentleman,” said the officer, whom Tempest’s laugh had put on his dignity, “no prevaricating. What were you doing with that there blazer?”
“What was I doing with it? Fetching it.”
The policeman was evidently puzzled. He wished he knew what a blazer was, but in the present distinguished company did not like to show his ignorance.
“That blazer must be produced,” said he; “it’ll be evidence.”
I looked at Tempest, as the person best able to deal with the matter, and said,—
“I left it in the gym. Mr Jarman made me.”
“How long was that before the explosion? Was it alight when you left it?”
“The blazer? Oh no.”
“A blazer,” explained the head master blandly, “is a flannel jacket. I don’t see what use it can be as evidence.”