stolen, Mr Sherlock Holmes.”
I confess this was a blow. Why had we—or Fisher—not been told of the additional theft of this permit? The headmaster had unexpectedly scored a point and was at ease again. Winter went over to his desk and came back with a small pad of yellow paper, whose pages might be torn off in succession. Printed at the top of each was the school name, followed by a space for the name of the boy and another for the signature of the master on duty. He handed it to Holmes, who riffled through the flimsy yellow leaves and handed it back. Reginald Winter resumed his fire-guard perch and smiled down at us once more.
“Each boy is given a small pad of forms at the start of term. Should he wish to leave the school grounds to visit the village on Saturday afternoon, he fills in his name, signature and the date. He then tears off this
“How do the boys draw money?” I asked.
Winter looked pleased to have been asked.
“As to cashing postal orders, doctor, we are careful to prevent boys having too much money in their hands. It leads to borrowing and lending or buying items which are not permitted in the school. Each boy is allowed to draw two shillings a week from a sum deposited with his house master at the beginning of term. If there is a special reason, he may draw more on a single occasion. Within the same rules, he may cash a postal order, provided it is sent from his parents. To go to the post office he must have an
“And Riley had such an
“No, Mr Holmes he did not. That is the whole point. He denies leaving the school grounds.”
Holmes looked at him as Winter was about to continue.
“Where was Patrick Riley at two-thirty?”
The headmaster summoned up an indulgent smile.
“Of course he insists that he did not leave the grounds, let alone with a permit in Porson’s name. How could he do otherwise? He claims that he spent an hour alone in the art room, between two and three o’clock. It is an alibi which a thief might choose because no one other than a type like Riley would skulk off there, for whatever purpose. He could be sure of being alone. His story would not be disproved.”
“Why not, Mr Winter?”
“Strictly speaking, the art room is out of bounds outside teaching hours. In practice we would take a lenient view of a boy found there, but Riley was not so found. What normal healthy boy would shut himself in there on a Saturday afternoon, when he might be pulling at the boats or roller-skating with his classmates? As for witnesses, a few boys might pass the art room, but none would be likely to look in. They would certainly not be surprised to find it locked. Possibly Riley bolted the door on the inside, stepped out of the casement window, closed it after him and walked off to the village. No one could then be positive that he was not there during twenty minutes or so. It falls far short of a positive alibi, Mr Holmes.”
“Indeed,” said Holmes coldly. “So far short that a true thief would not consider it.”
“How many ways were there to the post office?” I asked.
“As many as you like, Dr Watson. A boy might walk along the road from the main entrance. He might follow that same route inside the field-hedge. He might even go through the trees at any angle he chose. It would not be difficult to remain concealed until he was within twenty yards of the post office.”
“And then Riley and Porson were friends,” I added. “Why should Riley rob his class-mate?”
“We may be sure that Porson did not falsely complain of theft. He gained nothing—he had only to go and get his money from the post office at four o’clock. Yet you are quite right, though, that the thief’s motive and identity remained a puzzle. Very well. For that reason I invited Miss Henslowe, the assistant postmistress, in an attempt to identify the boy whom she served at the office.”
“And so?” I persisted.
“The good lady came here, looked at them, and picked out Riley as the only possible suspect. Now then, what would you have me do, gentlemen? I informed the chairman of the governors, Commander Portman, and with his knowledge sought the advice of the Admiralty. The Judge Advocate to the Fleet requested the opinion of the principal Home Office forensic advisor on handwriting, Mr Thomas Gurrin. Mr Gurrin had no doubt that the signature on the counterfoil of the postal order and the samples written by Patrick Riley were from the same hand.”
He turned to my friend.
“Whatever your allegiances, Mr Holmes, you cannot say we have not behaved properly.”
“My allegiance is to the truth, sir, and to justice. I have no other clients. I am here at the request of Admiral Sir John Fisher.”
Mr Winter did not like this last reminder, but he said, “So I understand,” and battled on.
“I then recommended to the chairman of the governors that Mrs Riley should be asked to remove her son from the school. How could the boy go back and mingle with his comrades after such a finding against him?”
“I should like to interview Master Patrick Riley,” said Holmes casually, “and, indeed, his friend Porson.”
There was a breathless geniality about Winter which suggested an ace up his sleeve.
“You shall certainly talk to Riley, Mr Holmes.” The geniality vanished as the ace appeared. “I cannot, however, order other boys to submit to interrogation by an outsider, even one who comes at the request of an Admiral of the Fleet. We are licenced by the Admiralty, Mr Holmes, we are not owned nor governed by it.”
I could see that this was as far as we should get with him. He had put on a show of easy courtesy, but I should not have cared to be a pupil at St Vincent’s. A crook-handled cane stood in a corner of the room. I noticed that Holmes’s mouth had tightened a little as he caught sight of it. I recalled a comment of his on those who demonstrated their manhood by beating children.
In a voice like thin ice breaking, Sherlock Holmes said, “We have occupied too much of your time, Mr Winter, and our own. Perhaps before we talk to Patrick Riley, Dr Watson and I may take a walk across the field towards the railway line.”
Innocent surprise, pumped up as from a well, brightened Reginald Winter’s face. He was pleased to allow us something after forbidding an interview with Porson, though not quite as pleased as by having seen the last of Sherlock Holmes for a while. Left to himself, he would no doubt repair his defences.
“By all means walk across to the line, Mr Holmes, though I cannot see how it will help you. If you go out through the back of the building, the playing field lies before you. Your route is straight ahead. The railway is clearly visible on its embankment. It should not take you half an hour. On your return, we shall have tea before your talk with Riley.”
The expression on my friend’s face indicated that, though nothing would prevent him from talking to Patrick Riley, wild horses would not drag him to take tea with the headmaster.
Reginald Winter watched us walk away down the corridor and stood there until we had passed the glass door which separated his quarters from the rest of the main school. As he disappeared into his study, Holmes held up his finger, a quiet gesture of self-reproach.
“My hat,” he said absent-mindedly.
He went back to the hall-stand, with its mirrors, hooks and racks. Taking down his travelling-cap, he adjusted it in the glass. His eyes made a careful survey of boots and umbrellas, which were presumably the headmaster’s outdoor wear, almost as if he had thought of borrowing some of it.
I was uneasy in case Winter should reappear from the study and catch us examining his effects. But Holmes had not quite done. As I have mentioned, the walls of the corridor were hung with group photographs of the pupils. They were all at their lessons just now. I had noticed the photographs were “Drake Term,” “Anson Term,” or “Nelson Term,” each intake of boys christened after a hero of the fleet. To my relief, Holmes presently turned away from this display and walked towards me.
“And now, Watson,” he said briskly, “let us make the best of the time that our reluctant host has unwisely allowed us.
