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Charteris limped off the field, cheerful but damaged. He ached all over, and there was a large bruise on his left cheek-bone. He and Babe were going to the House, when they were aware that the Headmaster was beckoning to them.

‘Well, MacArthur, and what was the result of the match?’

‘We won, sir,’ boomed the Babe. ‘Two goals and a try to nil.’

‘You have hurt your cheek, Charteris?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘How did you do that?’

‘I got a kick, sir, in one of the rushes.’

‘Ah. I should bathe it, Charteris. Bathe it well. I hope it will not be very painful. Bathe it well in warm water.’

He walked on.

‘You know,’ said Charteris to the Babe, as they went into the House, ‘the Old Man isn’t such a bad sort after all. He has his points, don’t you think?’

The Babe said that he did.

‘I’m going to reform, you know,’ continued Charteris confidentially.

‘It’s about time,’ said the Babe. ‘You can have the bath first if you like. Only buck up.’

Charteris boiled himself for ten minutes, and then dragged his weary limbs to his study. It was while he was sitting in a deck-chair eating mixed biscuits, and wondering if he would ever be able to summon up sufficient energy to put on garments of civilization, that somebody knocked at the door.

‘Yes,’ shouted Charteris. ‘What is it? Don’t come in. I’m changing.’

The melodious treble of Master Crowinshaw, his fag, made itself heard through the keyhole.

‘The Head told me to tell you that he wanted to see you at the School House as soon as you can go.’

‘All right,’ shouted Charteris. ‘Thanks.’

‘Now what,’ he continued to himself, ‘does the Old Man want to see me for? Perhaps he wants to make certain that I’ve bathed my cheek in warm water. Anyhow, I suppose I must go.’

A quarter of an hour later he presented himself at the Headmagisterial door. The sedate Parker, the Head’s butler, who always filled Charteris with a desire to dig him hard in the ribs just to see what would happen, ushered him into the study.

The Headmaster was reading by the light of a lamp when Charteris came in. He laid down his book, and motioned him to a seat; after which there was an awkward pause.

‘I have just received,’ began the Head at last, ‘a most unpleasant communication. Most unpleasant. From whom it comes I do not know. It is, in fact–er–anonymous. I am sorry that I ever read it.’

He stopped. Charteris made no comment. He guessed what was coming. He, too, was sorry that the Head had ever read the letter.

‘The writer says that he saw you, that he actually spoke to you, at the athletic sports at Rutton yesterday. I have called you in to tell me if that is true.’ The Head fastened an accusing eye on his companion.

‘It is quite true, sir,’ said Charteris steadily.

‘What!’ said the Head sharply. ‘You were at Rutton?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You were perfectly aware, I suppose, that you were breaking the School rules by going there, Charteris?’ enquired the Head in a cold voice.

‘Yes, sir.’ There was another pause.

‘This is very serious,’ began the Head. ‘I cannot overlook this. I–‘

There was a slight scuffle of feet in the passage outside. The door flew open vigorously, and a young lady entered. It was, as Charteris recognized in a minute, his acquaintance of the afternoon, the young lady of the bicycle.

‘Uncle,’ she said, ‘have you seen my book anywhere?’

‘Hullo!’ she broke off as her eye fell on Charteris.

‘Hullo!’ said Charteris, affably, not to be outdone in the courtesies.

‘Did you catch your train?’

‘No. Missed it.’

‘Hullo! what’s the matter with your cheek?’

‘I got a kick on it.’

‘Oh, does it hurt?’

‘Not much, thanks.’

Here the Head, feeling perhaps a little out of it, put in his oar.

‘Dorothy, you must not come here now. I am busy. And how, may I ask, do you and Charteris come to be acquainted?’

‘Why, he’s him,’ said Dorothy lucidly.