Was It Murder? by James Hilton Page A

verdict?”
    “WE, yes—Scotland Yard, I mean, though perhaps I oughtn’t to tell you.  Oh yes, we’re not so blind as people often suppose.  What I want to know now is how YOU came to have suspicions?”
    “It’s rather a complicated story, I’m afraid.”
    “Never mind, I’ll listen.  I’ve been pretty frank with you—now it’s your turn.  Go ahead.”
    Revell, after a doubtful pause, began at the beginning and told the whole history of his connexion with the Marshall affair.  Guthrie did not question him during the narration, but when he had finished, the good-humoured, rather nondescript face took on a sudden look of alertness.  “So you’re what might be termed an amateur detective, eh, Mr. Revell?”
    “I don’t claim the title, I assure you.  I came in, at the beginning, because of Roseveare’s invitation, and when the second affair happened I think it was rather natural that I should take an interest in it.”
    “Oh, quite.  And for an amateur you really haven’t done so very badly.  The point is that we professionals have all the cards in our hands.  Inevitable, isn’t it?  You’ve no credentials—no police force to back you up.  The only thing an amateur can do—and that, very often, quite easily—is to scare the criminal and give him a good chance of getting away.”
    “I don’t think I’ve done that.”
    “Did I say so?  Personally I think the Oakington murderer is very far from being scared.  The inquest verdict must, as we intended, have reassured him considerably.”
    “There have been all sorts of rumours about, though.”
    “Oh, I daresay.  Most likely some of my plain-clothes fellows have been seen—I put them on to keep an eye on things at night.”
    “Do you mean that you’ve been searching the place already?”
    “Hardly that—though by pure luck my men DID find something—but this weather’s the very devil—gives everybody such a reasonable excuse for taking a stroll in the middle of the night. . . .  However, most of that’s by the bye.  What I was just going to tell you was that a few days ago a man named Graham arrived in town.  He also had noticed the rather remarkable accidents that had happened to two boys at a public school.  He was the boys’ guardian, in fact, so he had every right to be interested.  But instead of trying to solve the mystery, if any, on his own, he very wisely— yes, VERY wisely, if I may say so, Mr. Revell—came to us at the Yard for a little talk about it.”
    Revell accepted the implied rebuke with a faint smile.
    “Not that he had definite evidence, of course,” continued the other.  “One very often hasn’t, at the beginning of a case.  But he told us enough for the Yard to send me to Oakington—just for a little unofficial look around.  I hope I didn’t make myself too conspicuous, though I did have a chat with the local Coroner and police.  Like you, Mr. Revell, I very soon came to the tentative conclusion that the second boy, and possibly the first as well, had been murdered.  Then, quite by chance, one of the constables on patrol duty found something that definitely gave us a clue.  On the strength of it we were able to approach the Home Office with a request for the exhumation of the body.  That’s how it all happened. . . .  Now don’t ask me what it was that my men found, for a detective has to keep a few secrets to himself.  Tell me now, if it doesn’t happen to be one of YOUR secrets, whom do you suspect?”
    “The obvious person seems to be Ellington—the housemaster of School House.”
    “Yes, yes, I daresay.  And what are the reasons that make you think he is so very obvious?”
    “Well, to begin with . . . but, as a matter of fact, I tabled them all in my notebook—perhaps you’d care to have a look?”
    “Yes, I certainly should.”
    Revell produced his notebook, opened it at the proper page, and handed it across to the other.  Guthrie studied it intently for a moment or