sir."

"I strongly suspect you of having something to do with this."

"Really, Mr. Downing," said the headmaster, "that is surely
improbable. Smith could scarcely have cleaned the boot on his way to
my house. On one occasion I inadvertently spilt some paint on a shoe
of my own. I can assure you that it does not brush off. It needs a
very systematic cleaning before all traces are removed."

"Exactly, sir," said Psmith. "My theory, if I may----?"

"Certainly, Smith."

Psmith bowed courteously and proceeded.

"My theory, sir, is that Mr. Downing was deceived by the light and
shade effects on the toe of the boot. The afternoon sun, streaming in
through the window, must have shone on the boot in such a manner as to
give it a momentary and fictitious aspect of redness. If Mr. Downing
recollects, he did not look long at the boot. The picture on the
retina of the eye, consequently, had not time to fade. I remember
thinking myself, at the moment, that the boot appeared to have a
certain reddish tint. The mistake----"

"Bah!" said Mr. Downing shortly.

"Well, really," said the headmaster, "it seems to me that that is the
only explanation that will square with the facts. A boot that is
really smeared with red paint does not become black of itself in the
course of a few minutes."

"You are very right, sir," said Psmith with benevolent approval. "May
I go now, sir? I am in the middle of a singularly impressive passage
of Cicero's speech De Senectute."

"I am sorry that you should leave your preparation till Sunday, Smith.
It is a habit of which I altogether disapprove."

"I am reading it, sir," said Psmith, with simple dignity, "for
pleasure. Shall I take the boot with me, sir?"

"If Mr. Downing does not want it?"

The housemaster passed the fraudulent piece of evidence to Psmith
without a word, and the latter, having included both masters in a
kindly smile, left the garden.

Pedestrians who had the good fortune to be passing along the road
between the housemaster's house and Mr. Outwood's at that moment saw
what, if they had but known it, was a most unusual sight, the
spectacle of Psmith running. Psmith's usual mode of progression was a
dignified walk. He believed in the contemplative style rather than the
hustling.

On this occasion, however, reckless of possible injuries to the crease
of his trousers, he raced down the road, and turning in at Outwood's
gate, bounded upstairs like a highly trained professional