"But I could _not_ find it, sir," repeated Bywater. "The choristers
know I couldn't; and they left me hunting for it when they went into
the hall to receive the judges. I could not go into my stall, sir, and
sing the anthem without my surplice."

"Hurst had no business to sing it," was the vexed rejoinder of the
master. "You know your voice is gone, Hurst. You should have gone up to
the organist, stated the case, and had another anthem put up."

"But, sir, I was expecting Bywater in every minute. I thought he'd be
sure to find his surplice somewhere," was Hurst's defence. "And when he
did not come, and it grew too late to do anything, I thought it better
to take the anthem myself than to give it to a junior, who would be
safe to have made a mess of it. Better for the judges and other
strangers to hear a faded voice in Helstonleigh Cathedral, than to hear
bad singing."

The master did not speak. So far, Hurst's argument had reason in it.

"And--I beg your pardon for what I am about to say, sir," Hurst went
on: "but I hope you will allow me to assure you beforehand, that
neither I, nor my juniors under me, have had a hand in this affair.
Bywater has just told me that the surplice is found, and how; and blame
is sure to be cast upon us; but I declare that not one of us has been
in the mischief."

Mr. Pye opened his eyes. "What now?" he asked. "What is the mischief?"

"I found the surplice afterwards, sir," Bywater said. "This is it."