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 groundsman came out in his shirt sleeves,
blinking as if he had just waked 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 window. Makes it look shabby, sir. So
I thought I'd better give it a coating so as to look shipshape when the
Marylebone come down."

"Just so. An excellent idea. Tell me, Markby, what did you do with the
pot of paint when you had finished?"

"Put it in the bicycle shed, sir."

"On the floor?"

"On the floor, sir? No. On the shelf at the far end, with the can of
whitening what I use for marking out the wickets, sir."

"Of course, yes. Quite so. Just as I thought."

"Do you want it, sir?"

"No, thank you, Markby, no, thank you. The fact is, somebody who had no
business to do so has moved the pot of paint from the shelf to the
floor, with the result that it has been kicked over and spilled. You had
better get some more tomorrow. Thank you, Markby. That is all I
wished to know."

Mr. Downing walked back to the school thoroughly excited. He was hot on
the scent now. The only other possible theories had been tested and
successfully exploded. The thing had become simple to a degree. All he
had to do was to go to Mr. Outwood's house--the idea of searching a
fellow master's house did not appear to him at all a delicate task;
somehow one grew unconsciously to feel that Mr. Outwood did not really
exist as a man capable of resenting liberties--find the paint-splashed
shoe, ascertain its owner, and denounce him to the headmaster. There
could be no doubt that a paint-splashed shoe must be in Mr. Outwood's
house somewhere. A boy cannot tread in a pool of paint without showing
some signs of having done so. It was Sunday, too, so that the shoe would
not yet have been cleaned. Yoicks! Also tally-ho! This really was
beginning to be something like business.

Regardless of the heat, the sleuth-hound hurried across to Outwood's as
fast as he could walk.

20

A CHECK

The only two members of the