'It wasn't the Devil, then.' The boy's voice was flat, without feeling.
'The Devil?'
Hugh turned and marched out of the surgery, Rutledge hastily thanking the nurse and following him out to the motorcar.
Hugh was leaning against the wing, his face hidden.
Rutledge gave him time to recover and then said quietly, so that passersby couldn't hear, 'Will you tell me what you know, Hugh?'
'I want to go home now.' Hugh turned and scrambled into the passenger's side, waited for Rutledge to crank the motorcar, then join him.
They were nearly out of Elthorpe before Hugh spoke.
'We thought it was the Devil lying there,' he said, beginning at the end of the tale, tears suddenly welling in his eyes. He looked away. 'That's when I dropped the book, we were all so afraid.'
'You were there?' Rutledge tried to absorb that. 'What took you there, Hugh? Why should you think it was the Devil?'
'Because we'd been trying to raise him, weren't we? With that book of Mr. Crowell's.'
'That's a book of alchemy.'
'There's spells in it. That's why I took-borrowed-it.'
The story came tumbling out, relief so great that there was no stopping the pent-up words. Backward, leaping ahead, sometimes garbled, but clear enough. The boy ended, 'It wasn't Mr. Crowell who carried the book there. It was me. I went to his office when I was running an errand for Mrs. Crowell, and I took it. Must you tell him? Must you tell my father? There'll be the strap for the lot of us-even Robbie.'
Rutledge said, 'Have you told the whole truth, Hugh? Nothing left out, nothing made up?' But he was sure nothing had been held back. The boy had needed the release of telling the whole story to someone. Even a policeman.
'It's the truth,' Hugh said fervently, 'I swear it!'
'Is this why you and your friends were so afraid? Because you believed you'd raised the Devil?'
'We swore an oath not to tell. But Robbie wanted to tell, he was so afraid. I warned him his tongue would turn black.' He brushed his lips with his own tongue. 'And look who it was broke first.' There was disgust in his voice.
'You swore not to tell about raising the Devil. But you didn't raise him. What you saw was a human being, lying there in the shadows.'
'It doesn't matter, does it? An oath is an oath.'
'It matters a great deal. What you've done today is help with a police inquiry. You can rightly be proud of that. Should I speak to your friends, tell them you've done your proper duty? They may remember details that you haven't.'
'I'd rather you didn't. I've told you the lot. What about Mr. Crow- ell, then?'
'Leave this to me. Once the book has been explained away, there's nothing to link him to this other man, is there?'
Hugh still seemed uncertain.
Rutledge asked, 'Was there anyone else in the ruins that night? Did you see anyone on the road? Or hear anything, men arguing, someone walking fast to make sure he wasn't seen?'
'There was no one on the road or in the woods but us. And no one in the ruins. I'd swear to it.'
'If you remember anything, however small the detail might be, will you ask Mrs. Crowell to find me? This is true of your friends as well. Any small detail, Hugh.'
He said again, 'No, there was no one. We'd have run for home if there'd been any such thing.'
Which Rutledge thought was more true than any spoken denials.
He returned the boy to the school, spoke briefly to Mrs. Crowell, and then went looking for her husband.
'You're in the clear, Crowell. As far as I can see. I'll tell Inspector Madsen that you weren't in the abbey ruins that night.'
'Why are you so certain? And why did you take Hugh Tredworth away from the school without my permission?'
'He was out that night, and you'd best leave it at that.'
'What do you mean, out that night?'
'It's police business, Crowell, and if I were you, I'd let sleeping dogs lie. It's in your best interest, after all.'
Crowell's face had taken on a stubborn tightness.
'He's one of my pupils-'
'But not your son, is he? And he wasn't in school at the time. If he requires discipline, leave it to his father.'
'I don't understand how that boy could clear me of a charge of murder. My book was there, beside the dead man. How does a child explain that away? '
'If you wish, I'll take you to speak to Mr. Madsen. He'd like very much to see you charged. We can try to persuade him otherwise, but I'm not sure you'll be successful. He has a grudge against you, as far as I can tell, and if he pursues this matter, it's very likely to cost you your position here at Dilby.'
Crowell considered that. 'It's true. He's not counted amongst my friends.'
'Then leave me to deal with him. I haven't much time. Make your decision.'
'Very well. But I can tell you, it's against my better judgment.'
'And leave Hugh Tredworth alone. Don't question him yourself. If you do, it's likely that he won't be able to testify on your behalf at any trial, should it come to that.'
'Did Hugh take my book without my knowledge? But he couldn't have carried it to the abbey, not that far, in the middle of the night. Who did?'
Rutledge could follow his line of thought-that somehow the pointing finger of accusation was swinging toward his wife.
'It has nothing to do with Mrs. Crowell. Stop second-guessing me, you'll do more harm than good.'
He could see that Crowell had a tenacious mind and it would worry at the problem until it came up with a satisfactory conclusion.
It was also the kind of mind that might harbor a wrong until it grew into a monstrous weight that had to be addressed. Or avenged…
Hugh Tredworth had explained away the alchemy book. Albert Crowell might still bring down on himself a charge of murder because he couldn't let well enough alone.
Driving alone back to Elthorpe, Rutledge listened to Hamish in his mind.
'Ye've cleared the schoolmaster, aye, but there's still a dead man with no name and no suspects to take the schoolmaster's place.'
There was also one Henry Shoreham, who had to be found and discounted. For the record.
'Are you saying you don't believe Hugh Tredworth?'
'He told the youngest lad his tongue would turn black and drop oot if he spoke.'
'He told all four of them that.'
'But it was the youngest lad who believed it.'
'I think because Robbie needed so badly to confide in someone.'
'Yon inspector willna' be happy you've spoiled his chances.'
9
Inspector Madsen, in fact, was livid.
He paced the small office and asked Rutledge what he was about, to make an arbitrary decision about a case that was his only by courtesy.
Rutledge said, 'You can't hang a man for murder because you dislike him, Madsen. And there's no other proof
