"Is this it?" asked Mr. Tetlow, suddenly holding out one.
Bert did not need to give more than a single glance at it to know that it was his knife. It had his name on the handle and had been given him by his father at Christmas.
"Yes, that's mine," he said slowly.
"So I thought. And do you know where it was found, Bert?"
"No, Mr. Tetlow, I haven't any idea."
"Suppose I told you the janitor picked it up on the steps almost under the big snowball? If I tell you that what have you to say?"
"Well, Mr. Tetlow, I'll have to say that I don't know anything about it. I didn't drop my knife there, I'm sure."
"Then some one else must have done it. Be careful now, Bert. I don't want to be hasty, but it looks to me very much as though you were one of the boys who had played this trick—a trick that has made considerable trouble. I am sure there must have been others concerned with you, and I am almost positive that you had a hand in it.
