“No, my cricket bags. I was playing at the nets when my uncle came.”
“Ah! Cricket bags? Put it down, Pillingshot. That’s a clue. Work on it. Where are they?”
“They’ve gone to the wash.”
“About time, too. I noticed them. How do you know the quid didn’t go to the wash as well?”
“I turned both the pockets inside out.”
“Any hole in the pocket?”
“No.”
“Well, when did you take off the bags? Did you sleep in them?”
“I wore ‘em till bed-time, and then shoved them on a chair by the side of the bed. It wasn’t till next morning that I remembered the quid was in them–-“
“But it wasn’t,” objected Scott.
“I thought it was. It ought to have been.”
“He thought it was. That’s a clue, young Pillingshot. Work on it. Well?”
“Well, when I went to take the quid out of my cricket bags, it wasn’t there.”
“What time was that?”
“Half-past seven this morning.”
“What time did you go to bed?”
“Ten.”
“Then the theft occurred between the hours of ten and seven-thirty. Mind you, I’m giving you a jolly good leg- up, young Pillingshot. But as it’s your first case I don’t mind. That’ll be all from you, Evans. Pop off.”
Evans disappeared. Scott turned to the detective.
“Well, young Pillingshot,” he said, “what do you make of it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What steps do you propose to take?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re a lot of use, aren’t you? As a start, you’d better examine the scene of the robbery, I should say.”
Pillingshot reluctantly left the room.
“Well?” said Scott, when he returned. “Any clues?”
“No.”
“You thoroughly examined the scene of the robbery?”
“I looked under the bed.”
“
“Hadn’t got a magnifying-glass.”
“Then you’d better buck up and get one, if you’re going to be a detective. Do you think Sherlock Holmes ever moved a step without his? Not much. Well, anyhow. Did you find any foot-prints or tobacco-ash?”
“There was a jolly lot of dust about.”
“Did you preserve a sample?”
“No.”
“My word, you’ve a lot to learn. Now, weighing the evidence, does anything strike you?”
“No.”
“You’re a bright sort of sleuth-hound, aren’t you! It seems to me I’m doing all the work on this case. I’ll have to give you another leg-up. Considering the time when the quid disappeared, I should say that somebody in the dormitory must have collared it. How many fellows are there in Evans’ dormitory?”
“I don’t know.”
“Cut along and find out.”
The detective reluctantly trudged off once more.
“Well?” said Scott, on his return.
“Seven,” said Pillingshot. “Counting Evans.”
“We needn’t count Evans. If he’s ass enough to steal his own quids, he deserves to lose them. Who are the other six?”
“There’s Trent. He’s prefect.”
“The Napoleon of Crime. Watch his every move. Yes?”
