The headmaster was just saying, "I do not think you fully realize, Jackson, the extent to which appearances ..."--which was practically going back to the beginning and starting again--when there was a knock at the door. A voice without said, "Mr. Downing to see you, sir," and the chief witness for the prosecution burst in. "I would not have interrupted you," said Mr. Downing, "but--" "Not at all, Mr. Downing. Is there anything I can ..." "I have discovered ... I have been informed ... In short, it was not Jackson, who committed the--who painted my dog." Mike and the headmaster both looked at the speaker. Mike with a feeling of relief--for Stout Denial, unsupported by any weighty evidence, is a wearing game to play--the headmaster with astonishment. "Not Jackson?" said the headmaster. "No. It was a boy in the same house. Smith." Psmith! Mike was more than surprised. He could not believe it. There is nothing which affords so clear an index to a boy's character as the type of rag which he considers humorous. Between what is a rag and what is merely a rotten trick there is a very definite line drawn. Masters, as a rule, do not realize this, but boys nearly always do. Mike could not imagine Psmith doing a rotten thing like covering a housemaster's dog with red paint, any more than he could imagine doing it himself. They had both been amused at the sight of Sammy after the operation, but anybody, except possibly the owner of the dog, would have thought it funny at first. After the first surprise, their feeling had been that it was a rotten thing to have done and beastly rough luck on the poor brute. It was a kid's trick. As for Psmith having done it, Mike simply did not believe it. "Smith!" said the headmaster. "What makes you think that?" "Simply this," said Mr. Downing, with calm triumph, "that the boy himself came to me a few moments ago and confessed." Mike was conscious of a feeling of acute depression. It did not make him in the least degree jubilant, or even thankful, to know that he himself was cleared of the charge. All he could think of was that Psmith was done for. This was bound to mean the sack. If Psmith had painted Sammy it meant that Psmith had broken out of his house at night; and it was not likely that the rules about nocturnal wandering were less strict at Sedleigh than at any other school in the kingdom. Mike felt, if possible, worse than he had felt when Wyatt had been caught on a similar occasion. It seemed as if Fate had a special grudge against his best friends. He did not make friends very quickly or easily, though he had always had scores of acquaintances--and with Wyatt and Psmith he had found himself at home from the first moment he had met them. He sat there, with a curious feeling of having swallowed a heavy weight, hardly listening to what Mr. Downing was saying. Mr. Downing was talking rapidly to the headmaster, who was nodding from time to time.