Trevor waited till the headmaster had gone back to his library, gavehim five minutes to settle down, and then went in.

　　The headmaster looked up inquiringly.

　　"My essay, sir," said Trevor.

　　"Ah, yes. I had forgotten."Trevor opened the notebook and began to read what he had written. Hefinished the paragraph which owed its insertion to Clowes, and racedhurriedly on to the next. To his surprise the flippancy passedunnoticed, at any rate, verbally. As a rule the headmaster preferredthat quotations from back numbers of _Punch_ should be kept out ofthe prefects' English Essays. And he generally said as much. But todayhe seemed strangely preoccupied. A split infinitive in paragraph five,which at other times would have made him sit up in his chair stiff withhorror, elicited no remark. The same immunity was accorded to theinsertion (inspired by Clowes, as usual) of a popular catch phrase inthe last few lines. Trevor finished with the feeling that luck hadfavoured him nobly.

　　"Yes," said the headmaster, seemingly roused by the silence followingon the conclusion of the essay. "Yes." Then, after a long pause, "Yes,"again.

　　Trevor said nothing, but waited for further comment.

　　"Yes," said the headmaster once more, "I think that is a veryfair essay. Very fair. It wants a little more--er--not quite somuch--um--yes."Trevor made a note in his mind to effect these improvements in futureessays, and was getting up, when the headmaster stopped him.

　　"Don't go, Trevor. I wish to speak to you."Trevor's first thought was, perhaps naturally, that the bat was going tobe brought into discussion. He was wondering helplessly how he was goingto keep O'Hara and his midnight exploit out of the conversation, whenthe headmaster resumed. "An unpleasant thing has happened, Trevor--""Now we're coming to it," thought Trevor.

　　"It appears, Trevor, that a considerable amount of smoking has beengoing on in the school."Trevor breathed freely once more. It was only going to be a mereconventional smoking row after all. He listened with more enjoymentas the headmaster, having stopped to turn down the wick of thereading-lamp which stood on the table at his side, and which hadbegun, appropriately enough, to smoke, resumed his discourse.

　　"Mr Dexter--"Of course, thought Trevor. If there ever was a row in the school,Dexter was bound to be at the bottom of it.

　　"Mr Dexter has just been in to see me. He reported six boys. Hediscovered them in the vault beneath the junior block. Two of them wereboys in your house."Trevor murmured something wordless, to show that the story interestedhim.

　　"You knew nothing of this, of course--""No, sir.""No. Of course not. It is difficult for the head of a house to know allthat goes on in that house."Was this his beastly sarcasm? Trevor asked himself. But he came to theconclusion that it was not. After all, the head of a house is onlyhuman. He cannot be expected to keep an eye on the private life ofevery member of his house.