such word as prefect. All are alike. Go and take down Trent's
statement."

To tax a prefect with having stolen a sovereign was a task at which
Pillingshot's imagination boggled. He went to Trent's study in a sort
of dream.

A hoarse roar answered his feeble tap. There was no doubt about Trent
being in. Inspection revealed the fact that the prefect was working
and evidently ill-attuned to conversation. He wore a haggard look and
his eye, as it caught that of the collector of statements, was
dangerous.

"Well?" said Trent, scowling murderously.

Pillingshot's legs felt perfectly boneless.

"_Well_?" said Trent.

Pillingshot yammered.

"_Well_?"

The roar shook the window, and Pillingshot's presence of mind deserted
him altogether.

"Have you bagged a sovereign?" he asked.

There was an awful silence, during which the detective, his limbs
suddenly becoming active again, banged the door, and shot off down the