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He unclasped his right hand and exhibited a sovereign. Scott inspected it. "Is this the one?" he said. "Yes," said Pillingshot. "How do you know?" "It is. I've sifted all the evidence." "Who had bagged it?" "I don't want to mention names." "Oh, all right. As he didn't spend any of it, it doesn't much matter. Not that it's much catch having a thief roaming at large about the house.
Why, in 'Silver Blaze' it was a burnt match that first put Holmes on the scent." Entering the junior day-room with some apprehension, the sleuth-hound found an excited gathering of suspects waiting to interview him. One sentiment animated the meeting. Each of the five wanted to know what Pillingshot meant by it. "What's the row?" queried interested spectators, rallying round.
Pillingshot had hoped that by the next day he would have forgotten the subject. But, when he went into the study to get tea ready, up it came again. "Any clues yet, Pillingshot?" Pillingshot had to admit that there were none. "Hullo, this won't do. You must bustle about. You must get your nose to the trail. Have you cross-examined Trent yet? No? Well, there you are, then. Nip off and do it now."
Scott's interest was aroused. When his fag was making tea in the afternoon, he questioned him again. "Out with it," he said. "What's the point of all this silent mystery business?" "Sherlock Holmes never gave anything away." "Out with it." "Walls have ears," said Pillingshot. "So have you," replied Scott crisply, "and I'll smite them in half a second."
Pillingshot, I hand this case over to you. I employ you." Pillingshot gaped. "I feel certain that's your line. I've often noticed you walking over to school, looking exactly like a blood-hound. Get to work. As a start you'd better fetch Evans up here and question him." "But, look here " "Buck up, man, buck up. Don't you know that every moment is precious?"
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."
Watch his every move. Yes?" "Simms." "A dangerous man. Sinister to the core." "And Green, Berkeley, Hanson, and Daubeny." "Every one of them well known to the police. Why, the place is a perfect Thieves' Kitchen. Look here, we must act swiftly, young Pillingshot. This is a black business. We'll take them in alphabetical order. Run and fetch Berkeley."
Well, I expect Evans will give you something a jewelled snuff-box or something if you pull the thing off." "I don't." "Well, he'll buy you a tea or something." "He won't. He's not going to break the quid. He's saving up for a camera." "Well, what are you going to do about it?" Pillingshot kicked the leg of the table. "You put me on to the case," he said casually. "What!
"I never thought of that." "You must think of everything. The worst mistake a detective can make is to get switched off on to another track while he's working on a case. This match is a clue to something else. You can't work on it." "I suppose not," said Pillingshot. "Don't be discouraged. You're doing fine." "I know," said Pillingshot. "I shall find that quid all right."
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.
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