The young man brightened perceptibly--"Not one, sir; that is to say, not one that I know of," he added, less brightly. "Ah, so I'm told. How do you account for this attack upon you, then?" Catherwood's eyes dropped to the carpet. The president watched him covertly, fumbling the seal that dangled from his watch-chain. "I can't," Catherwood replied at last, looking up. "No, of course you can't. I hardly expected you could," the president exclaimed. "But, Mr. Catherwood"--he spoke slowly--"have you no _idea_ who it was committed this most dastardly assault upon you?" There was an instant's silence during which Catherwood followed the scroll design of the carpet up one row and down another. "Yes, sir--_I have._" "Who?" The president leaned forward. "I don't feel justified in saying, sir." Catherwood did not look up as he spoke. The president leaned back and passed his hand across his forehead. "Ah, yes; I think I understand, Mr. Catherwood--you--you--perhaps fear the blame may be placed where it should not--a fine sense of justice; Mr. Catherwood--a very fine sense of justice--I congratulate you upon it, sir." Catherwood glanced up now, moved to a sort of secret impatience by what he assumed to be a note of sarcasm in the president's voice. But the face his eyes encountered was most kindly. His eyes fell again. The president took up the envelope opener and placed the steel point to his lips. "Mr. Catherwood," he began, and hesitated. "Yes, sir." "Of course you know," he went on, "that since my return the facts in your case have been placed before me by certain members of the faculty who are familiar with them." "Yes, sir," Catherwood murmured. "Now, Mr. Catherwood, while they have told me many things of interest, there is one little detail that seems to me to have a very important bearing upon the case, but which, for some unaccountable reason, they all seem to have missed. Perhaps you can throw some light upon this dark place." The president indulged here in a round, full laugh. Encouraged by the infinite kindness of this voice, Catherwood lifted his eyes. "Yes, sir; if I can--what is it?" "Ah, yes." The president cleared his throat. "Mr. Catherwood," he resumed calmly, twirling the envelope opener between his fingers, "what I wish so very much to know is _how you managed to tie your hands behind you_!" "Why I----" Catherwood began, and stopped. He tried to wrench his eyes from those of the president,--calm, blue--but could not. The room whirled. The design in the carpet became the design of the walls and of the ceiling; and there were no windows in the room, or doors--and all was black--black--black, save for two points of light; for there were those calm blue eyes, shining back at his. And then as though it spoke from some great height he heard the mellow voice in his ears again. "Go on, Mr. Catherwood," the voice said.