. And use your feet. Get about quick, and you'll find
he don't like that. Hullo, says he, I can't touch him. Then, when he's
tired, go in."

The pupil nodded with closed eyes.

While these words of wisdom were proceeding from the mouth of Mr Bevan,
another conversation was taking place which would have interested Sheen
if he could have heard it. Mr Spence and the school instructor were
watching the final from the seats under the side windows.

"It's extraordinary," said Mr Spence. "The boy's wonderfully good for
the short time he has been learning. You ought to be proud of your
pupil."

"Sir?"

"I was saying that Sheen does you credit."

"Not me, sir."

"What! He told me he had been taking lessons. Didn't you teach him?"

"Never set eyes on him, till this moment. Wish I had, sir. He's the
sort of pupil I could wish for."

Mr Spence bent forward and scanned the features of the man who was
attending the Wrykinian.

"Why," he said, "surely that's Bevan--Joe Bevan! I knew him at
Cambridge."

"Yes, sir, that's Bevan," replied the instructor. "He teaches boxing at
Wrykyn now, sir."

"At Wrykyn--where?"

"Up the river--at the 'Blue Boar', sir," said the instructor, quite
innocently--for it did not occur to him that this simple little bit of
information was just so much incriminating evidence against Sheen.

Mr Spence said nothing, but he opened his eyes very wide. Recalling his
recent conversation with Sheen, he remembered that the boy had told him
he had been taking lessons, and also that Joe Bevan, the ex-pugilist,
had expressed a high opinion of his work. Mr Spence had imagined that
Bevan had been a chance spectator of the boy's skill; but it would now
seem that Bevan himself had taught Sheen. This matter, decided Mr
Spence, must be looked into, for it was palpable that Sheen had broken
bounds in order to attend Bevan's boxing-saloon up the river.

For the present, however, Mr Spence was content to say nothing.

* * * * *

Sheen came up for the second round fresh and confident. His head was
clear, and his breath no longer came in gasps. There was to be no
rallying this time. He had had the worst of the first round, and meant
to make up his lost points.

Peteiro, losing no time, dashed in. Sheen met him with a left in the
face, and gave way a foot. Again Peteiro rushed, and again he was
stopped. As he bored in for the third time Sheen slipped him. The
Ripton man paused,