He could get the groundsman's address
from him.
Passing by the trees under whose shade Mike and Psmith and Dunster had
watched the match on the previous day, he came upon the Head of his
house in a deck chair reading a book. A summer Sunday afternoon is the
time for reading in deck chairs.
"Oh, Adair," he said. "No, don't get up. I merely wished to ask you if
you found any paint on your shoes when you returned to the house
last night."
"Paint, sir?" Adair was plainly puzzled. His book had been interesting,
and had driven the Sammy incident out of his head.
"I see somebody has spilled some paint on the floor of the bicycle shed.
You did not do that, I suppose, when you went to fetch your bicycle?"
"No, sir."
"It is spilled all over the floor. I wondered whether you had happened
to tread in it. But you say you found no paint on your shoes
this morning?"
"No, sir, my bicycle is always quite near the door of the shed. I didn't
go into the shed at all."
"I see. Quite so. Thank you, Adair. Oh, by the way, Adair, where does
Markby live?"
"I forget the name of his cottage, sir, but I could show you in a
second. It's one of those cottages just past the school gates, on the
right as you turn out into the road.
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