Passing by the trees under whose shade Mike and Psmith and Dunster had watched the match on the previous day, he came upon the Head of his house in a deck-chair reading a book. A summer Sunday afternoon is the time for reading in deck-chairs.
"Oh, Adair," he said. "No, don't get up. I merely wished to ask you if you found any paint on your boots when you returned to the house last night?"
"Paint, sir?" Adair was plainly puzzled. His book had been interesting, and had driven the Sammy incident out of his head.
"I see somebody has spilt some paint on the floor of the bicycle shed. You did not do that, I suppose, when you went to fetch your bicycle?"
"No, sir."
"It is spilt all over the floor. I wondered whether you had happened to tread in it. But you say you found no paint on your boots this morning?"
"No, sir, my bicycle is always quite near the door of the shed. I didn't go into the shed at all."
"I see. Quite so. Thank you, Adair. Oh, by the way, Adair, where does Markby live?"
"I forget the name of his cottage, sir, but I could show you in a second. It's one of those cottages just past the school gates, on the right as you turn out into the road. There are three in a row. His is the first you come to. There's a barn just before you get to them."
"Thank you. I shall be able to find them. I should like to speak to Markby for a moment on a small matter."
A sharp walk took him to the cottages Adair had mentioned. He rapped at the door of the first, and the ground-man came out in his shirt-sleeves, blinking as if he had just woke up, as was indeed the case.
"Oh, Markby!"
"Sir?"
'You remember that you were painting the scoring-box in the pavilion last night after the match?"
"Yes, sir. It wanted a lick of paint bad. The young gentlemen will scramble about and get through the
