con temporary papers; letters and what not. And no one mentions them at all."
"Perhaps they were afraid to. It was a time when it paid to be discreet."
"Yes; but I'll tell you something even odder. You know that Henry brought a Bill of Attainder against Richard, after Bosworth. Before Parliament, I mean. Well, he accuses Richard of cruelty and tyranny but doesn't even mention the murder."
"What!" said Grant, startled.
"Yes, you may well look startled."
"Are you sure!"
"Quite sure."
"But Henry got possession of the Tower immediately on his arrival in London after Bosworth. If the boys were missing it is incredible that he should not publish the fact immediately. It was the trump card in his hand. " He lay in surprised silence for a little. The sparrows on the window-sill quarrelled loudly. "I can't make sense of it," he said. "What possible explanation can there be for his omission to make capital out of the fact that the boys were missing?"
Brent shifted his long legs to a more comfortable position. "There is only one explanation," he said. "And that is that the boys weren't missing."
There was a still longer silence this time, while they stared at each other.
"Oh, no, it's nonsense," Grant said. "There must be some obvious explanation that we are failing to see."
"As what, for instance?"
"1 don't know. I haven't had time to think."
"I've had nearly three days to think, and I still haven't thought up a reason that will fit. Nothing will fit the facts except the conclusion that the boys were alive when Henry took over the Tower. It was a completely unscrupulous Act of Attainder; it accused Richard's followers —the loyal followers of an anointed King fighting against an invader—of treason. Every accusation that Henry could possibly make with any hope of getting away with it was put into the Bill. And the very worst he could accuse Richard of was the usual cruelty and tyranny. The boys aren't even mentioned."
"It's fantastic."
"It's unbelievable. But it is fact."
"What it means is that there was no contemporary accusation at all. "
"That's about it."
"But —but wait a minute. Tyrrel was hanged for the murder. He actually confessed to it before he died. Wait a minute." He reached for Oliphant and sped through the pages looking for the place. "There's a full account of it here somewhere. There was no mystery about it. Even the Statue of Liberty knew about it."
"Who?"
"The nurse you met in the corridor. It was Tyrrel who committed the murder and he was found guilty and confessed before his death."
"Was that when Henry took over in London, then?"
"Wait a moment, Here it is." He skimmed down the paragraph. "No, it was in 1502." He realised all of a sudden what he had just said, and repeated in a new, bewildered tone: "In —1502."
"But —but—but that was—"
"Yes. Nearly twenty years afterwards."
Brent fumbled for his cigarette case, took it out, and then put it hastily away again.
"Smoke if you like," Grant said. "It's a good stiff drink I need. I don't think my brain can be working very well. I feel the way I used to feel as a child when I was blindfolded and whirled round before beginning a blindman's-buff game."
"Yes," said Carradine. He took out a cigarette and lighted it. "Completely in the dark, and more than a little dizzy."
He sat staring at the sparrows.
"Forty million school books can't be wrong," Grant said after a little.
"Can't they?"
"Well, can they!"
"I used to think so, but I'm not so sure nowadays."
"Aren't you being a little sudden in your scepticism?"
"Oh, it wasn't this that shook me."
"What then?"
"A little affair called the Boston Massacre. Ever heard of it?"
"Of course."
"Well, I discovered quite by accident, when I was looking up something at college, that the Boston Massacre consisted of a mob throwing stones at a sentry. The total casualties were four. I was brought up on the Boston Massacre, Mr. Grant. My twenty-eight inch chest used to swell at the very memory
"Perhaps they were afraid to. It was a time when it paid to be discreet."
"Yes; but I'll tell you something even odder. You know that Henry brought a Bill of Attainder against Richard, after Bosworth. Before Parliament, I mean. Well, he accuses Richard of cruelty and tyranny but doesn't even mention the murder."
"What!" said Grant, startled.
"Yes, you may well look startled."
"Are you sure!"
"Quite sure."
"But Henry got possession of the Tower immediately on his arrival in London after Bosworth. If the boys were missing it is incredible that he should not publish the fact immediately. It was the trump card in his hand. " He lay in surprised silence for a little. The sparrows on the window-sill quarrelled loudly. "I can't make sense of it," he said. "What possible explanation can there be for his omission to make capital out of the fact that the boys were missing?"
Brent shifted his long legs to a more comfortable position. "There is only one explanation," he said. "And that is that the boys weren't missing."
There was a still longer silence this time, while they stared at each other.
"Oh, no, it's nonsense," Grant said. "There must be some obvious explanation that we are failing to see."
"As what, for instance?"
"1 don't know. I haven't had time to think."
"I've had nearly three days to think, and I still haven't thought up a reason that will fit. Nothing will fit the facts except the conclusion that the boys were alive when Henry took over the Tower. It was a completely unscrupulous Act of Attainder; it accused Richard's followers —the loyal followers of an anointed King fighting against an invader—of treason. Every accusation that Henry could possibly make with any hope of getting away with it was put into the Bill. And the very worst he could accuse Richard of was the usual cruelty and tyranny. The boys aren't even mentioned."
"It's fantastic."
"It's unbelievable. But it is fact."
"What it means is that there was no contemporary accusation at all. "
"That's about it."
"But —but wait a minute. Tyrrel was hanged for the murder. He actually confessed to it before he died. Wait a minute." He reached for Oliphant and sped through the pages looking for the place. "There's a full account of it here somewhere. There was no mystery about it. Even the Statue of Liberty knew about it."
"Who?"
"The nurse you met in the corridor. It was Tyrrel who committed the murder and he was found guilty and confessed before his death."
"Was that when Henry took over in London, then?"
"Wait a moment, Here it is." He skimmed down the paragraph. "No, it was in 1502." He realised all of a sudden what he had just said, and repeated in a new, bewildered tone: "In —1502."
"But —but—but that was—"
"Yes. Nearly twenty years afterwards."
Brent fumbled for his cigarette case, took it out, and then put it hastily away again.
"Smoke if you like," Grant said. "It's a good stiff drink I need. I don't think my brain can be working very well. I feel the way I used to feel as a child when I was blindfolded and whirled round before beginning a blindman's-buff game."
"Yes," said Carradine. He took out a cigarette and lighted it. "Completely in the dark, and more than a little dizzy."
He sat staring at the sparrows.
"Forty million school books can't be wrong," Grant said after a little.
"Can't they?"
"Well, can they!"
"I used to think so, but I'm not so sure nowadays."
"Aren't you being a little sudden in your scepticism?"
"Oh, it wasn't this that shook me."
"What then?"
"A little affair called the Boston Massacre. Ever heard of it?"
"Of course."
"Well, I discovered quite by accident, when I was looking up something at college, that the Boston Massacre consisted of a mob throwing stones at a sentry. The total casualties were four. I was brought up on the Boston Massacre, Mr. Grant. My twenty-eight inch chest used to swell at the very memory
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