“Mr. Prescott!” the instructor then called Dick rose, standing by his seat.

“Mr. Prescott, did you work out your problem for today unaided?”

“I had a little aid, last night, sir, from Mr. Anstey.”

“But you had no aid in the section room today?”

“No, sir,” replied Dick, feeling much puzzled.

“You understand my question, Mr. Prescott?”

“I think so, sir.”

“In putting down your demonstration on the blackboard today you had no aid whatever?”

“None whatever, sir.”

“At one stage, Air.  Prescott, you hesitated, waited, then asked permission to erase?  After that erasure you went on with hardly a break to the end of the blackboard work.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, at the time you hesitated, before securing leave to erase, you did not consult any aid in your work?”

“No, sir.”

“This piece of paper,” continued Captain Abbott, lifting the slip, “fell from your handkerchief when you drew it out, just as you left the blackboard.  That was why I asked you to bring it to me, Mr. Prescott.  This paper contains all the salient features of your demonstration.  Can you explain this fact, Mr. Prescott?”

The astounded yearling felt as though his brain were reeling. 
He went hot and cold, all in a flash.

In the same moment the other men of the section sat as though stunned.  All lying, deceit and fraud are so utterly detested at West Point that to a cadet it is incomprehensible how a comrade can be guilty of such an offence.

It seemed to Prescott like an age ere he could master his voice.

“I never saw that paper, sir, before you asked me to pick it up!”

“But it dropped from under your handkerchief, Mr. Prescott.  Can you account for that?”

“I cannot, sir.”

Captain Abbott looked thoughtfully, seriously, at Cadet Richard Prescott.  The instructor had always liked this young man, and had deemed him worthy of all trust.  Yet what did this evidence show?

In the meantime the cadets sat staring the tops of their desks, or the covers of their books.  The gaze of each man was stony; so were his feelings.

Prescott, the soul of honor, caught in such a scrape as this!

But there must be some sensible and satisfactory explanation, thought at least half of the cadets present.

“Have I permission to ask a question, sir?” asked Dick in an almost hollow voice.

“Proceed, Mr. Prescott.”

“Is the paper in my handwriting, sir?”

“It is not,” declared the instructor.  “Most of it is in typewriting, with two figures drawn crudely in ink.  There are three or four typewriting machines on the post to which a cadet may find easy access.  You may examine this piece of paper, Mr. Prescott, if you think that will aid you to throw any light on the matter.”

Dick stepped forward, lurching slightly.  Most of the silent men of the section took advantage of this slight distraction to shift their feet to new positions.  The noise grated in that awful silence.