As the moments of the half-minute's rest slid away he discovered the truth of Joe's remarks on the value of a good second. In his other fights the napping of the towel had hardly stirred the hair on his forehead. Joe's energetic arms set a perfect gale blowing. The cool air revived him. He opened his mouth and drank it in. A spongeful of cold water completed the cure. Long before the call of Time he was ready for the next round. "Keep away from him, sir," said Joe, "and score with that left of yours. Don't try the right yet. Keep it for guarding. Box clever. Don't let him corner you. Slip him when he rushes. Cool and steady does it. Don't aim at his face too much. Go down below. That's the _de_-partment. 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.