have you been, Smith?" asked Mr. Downing sharply.

"I have been washing my hands, sir."

"H'm!" said Mr. Downing suspiciously.

"Yes, I saw Smith go into the bathroom," said Mr. Outwood. "Smith, I
cannot quite understand what it is Mr. Downing wishes me to do."

"My dear Outwood," snapped the sleuth, "I thought I had made it
perfectly clear. Where is the difficulty?"

"I cannot understand why you should suspect Smith of keeping his shoes
in a cupboard, and," added Mr. Outwood with spirit, catching sight of a
good-gracious-has-the-man-_no_-sense look on the other's face, "Why he
should not do so if he wishes it."

"Exactly, sir," said Psmith, approvingly. "You have touched the spot."

"If I must explain again, my dear Outwood, will you kindly give me your
attention for a moment. Last night a boy broke out of your house, and
painted my dog Sampson red."

"He painted...!" said Mr. Outwood, round-eyed. "Why?"

"I don't know why. At any rate, he did. During the escapade one of his
shoes was splashed with the paint. It is that shoe which I believe Smith
to be concealing in this cupboard. Now, do you understand?"

Mr. Outwood looked amazedly at Psmith, and Psmith shook his head
sorrowfully at Mr. Outwood. Psmith's expression said, as plainly as if
he had spoken the words, "We must humor him."

"So with your permission, as Smith declares that he has lost the key, I
propose to break open the door of this cupboard. Have you any
objection?"

Mr. Outwood started.

"Objection? None at all, my dear fellow, none at all. Let me see, _what_
is it you wish to do?"

"This," said Mr. Downing shortly.

There was a pair of dumbbells on the floor, belonging to Mike. He never
used them, but they always managed to get themselves packed with the
rest of his belongings on the last day of the holidays. Mr. Downing
seized one of these, and delivered two rapid blows at the cupboard door.
The wood splintered. A third blow smashed the flimsy lock. The cupboard,
with any skeletons it might contain, was open for all to view.

Mr. Downing uttered a cry of triumph, and tore the shoe from its resting
place.

"I told you," he said. "I told you."

"I wondered where that shoe had got to," said Psmith. "I've been looking
for it for days."

Mr. Downing was examining his find. He looked up with an exclamation of
surprise and wrath.

"This shoe has no paint on it," he said, glaring at Psmith. "This is not
the shoe."

"It certainly appe