Outside Coles’ study he stopped just for a second and knocked. Then he went in. At first there appeared to be nobody inside. But he glanced into the corner where an easy-chair was placed before the fire and observed a tuft of hair showing above it. He moved forward and leaned over. Coles was sitting there asleep. His mouth was open and his features limp. A plain young man awake, he was widely renowned for his extreme ugliness when asleep. Rouse dropped his hand on to his shoulder and shook him vigorously. There came a distant growling. Rouse continued to shake. “What on earth is it?” muttered the object in the chair, slowly opening his eyes. “Who wants me? Why don’t you——” He recognised Rouse with a start and stopped abruptly. “Hullo!” he said. He rose somewhat foolishly and began to smooth his hair with his hands. “I was asleep.” “Yes,” said Rouse calmly. “So I noticed. I’m just about to put you to sleep _again_ too.” “Eh?” Rouse explained. “I’m going to hit you under the chin,” said he, “and I hope it’ll hurt. I thought you’d like to know.” At first Coles only stared at him confusedly, but presently the effects of sleep began to pass from him, and he collected his thoughts and made ready to deal with the situation. He went over Rouse’s surprising statement word for word, in silent communion with his inner self, analysing it with evident care, and at length he looked up at Rouse queerly. “You’re going to hit me under the chin? But why are you going to do that?” He did not seem particularly disturbed at the prospect. He was merely politely interested. Possibly this was because he was very well aware that he himself could box and that Rouse could not. Rouse did not waste words. He laid that strangely significant sheet of paper upon the table rather as if it were a mandate, and pointed at it wrathfully. “I think you’ve seen that before?” Coles leaned forward indifferently. “What is it? I can’t see.” Next moment it was thrust angrily before his eyes and held there. “Can you see it now?” said Rouse. “Is that _your_ composition?” Coles read it through coolly. “Are you under the impression that I wrote this?” “I know who wrote it,” said Rouse. “I’m asking you whether you made it up.” Coles weighed his answer with care. “If I wanted to write a note to you I should put my name to it. This has been written by some kid.” Rouse folded the paper up and put it in his pocket with some deliberation. “We won’t argue about it. I didn’t really expect you to admit the truth. But I wanted to mention it to you so that you’d understand what the trouble was about. There’s another thing as well. Can you tell me how the Head found out that everybody who played in the match yesterday had promised to take a fair share of the blame if there were any trouble?” “I wasn’t even aware that he did find out.”