Free Was It Murder? by James Hilton Page B

else?  Besides, I’m not a finger-print expert, even if the murderer’s paw-marks were plastered all over it!”
    “Yet you have, I suppose, a theory of your own by this time?”
    Lambourne queried.
    Revell nodded rather gloomily.  “Yes, I have, and it would be about as easy to prove to that jury to-morrow as the Einstein theory.  Not that I care much about the inquest.”
    “Don’t you?  Well, neither do I.  Which is why I intend to suppress a little evidence which, even if I took pains to blurt it out, would only be considered highly irrelevant.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yes, it would.  If I told them that about midnight on the night before last Ellington was seen walking about the grounds, they’d probably ask me what the devil it had to do with Marshall.”
    “Good heavens!  Who saw him?”
    “I did.”
    “YOU?”
    “Myself alone.  You see, I happen to be a very bad sleeper, and I often go for a stroll late at night.  And that night was the hottest of the year—I knew I should find it hard to get a wink, so I thought I’d take a turn round the buildings.”
    “And you saw Ellington?”
    “More than that, I met him and spoke to him.  He told me he was doing exactly the same thing—taking a stroll because of the heat.  I don’t care for his company much, but it seemed churlish not to chat with him, so I did—for perhaps a quarter of an hour or so.  In fact, we walked once round the Ring and then went back to our respective habitations.  At least, he saw me go into School House, and I presume he let himself into his own immediately afterwards.”
    “But, my dear fellow, this seems frightfully important.  Why on earth didn’t you tell me about it before?”
    “Because I didn’t want you to know too much against Ellington all at once.  It might have biased you in deciding whether the accident was faked or not.  Now that you’re pretty certain of that, I don’t mind you knowing the lot.”
    “How do you know I’m pretty certain the accident was faked?”
    “Because you had the excellent idea of visiting the swimming-bath in the dark.  I was taking another stroll and I saw you—funny what a lot of things I see on my strolls.  I saw you go in and I saw you come out again in about half a minute, which is roughly the time it would take any reasonably intelligent person to spot what really happened.  Or at any rate, what really couldn’t have happened.”
    “Yes, quite,” said Revell eagerly.  “I could see the water rippling distinctly.  And I noticed, too, that footsteps sound differently when the bath is full.”
    “You might add that the whole place smells differently—there’s nothing quite so unmistakable as the smell of the water in a swimming-bath. . . .  Oh yes, the accident theory is hopelessly impossible.  Unless, of course, you begin by bringing evidence that three of the boy’s senses were deficient.”
    A silence followed, which Revell broke by the question:  “What did you and Ellington talk about when you met that night?”
    “Shop, of course.  Have you ever heard Ellington talk anything else?”
    “It would be amusing if he gave evidence that he met YOU at that suspicious hour.  And rather clever of him, too.”
    Lambourne laughed.  “You bet he won’t.  As a matter of fact, he visited me here an hour ago to discuss that very point.  And we both agreed that we would not waste the Coroner’s valuable time by mentioning such a trivial matter.”
    “Good Lord!  You’ve got a nerve!”
    “Well, it seemed a fairly reasonable arrangement, I must admit.  He promised not to say he’d seen me if I promised not to say I’d seen him.  After all, in the eyes of the law, I suppose we should both be equally suspect if there were suspicion at all.  Anyhow, the inquest’s bound to be the biggest farce you ever saw, so what does it matter?”
    And Revell, though he completely agreed with the other’s sentiments, could not forbear a slight shudder at the tone