Jimmy’s “Not guilty” rang out clearly. He looked down the court, and he saw Kathy Lingbourne. Her look encouraged him. It was full of faith and trust. Her brother Len was with her. After his time in prison it was good to see people who were free. He had undervalued freedom in the past. He thought that he would never undervalue it again.
Sir James Coghill, on the bench, was speaking.
“There has been a development in this case which will have the effect of changing the usual procedure. A witness will be called for the defence. Call Richard Pratt!”
There was a pause, and then Dicky Pratt appeared under the superintendence of an enormous policeman. He was quite composed. He wore his best suit, his golden hair shone, his blue eyes gazed trustfully at the court, and he took the oath with great decorum. Mrs. Pratt roused from her melancholy state to feel proud of him. He gave what may be called a perfect performance.
Mr. Carisbrooke rose from the table in the middle of the hall.
“Your name is Richard Pratt?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are-how old?”
“Eleven and a half, sir.”
“You remember Saturday the thirtieth of September?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“Will you describe what happened to you when it was getting dark.”
“I was going along the road past Miss Danesworth’s house, and when I’d got a little way past a gentleman stopped me.”
“Was he on foot, or was he in a car?”
“He was on foot, but there was a car up the road. He came out of it. And he said to me, ‘Hi, you boy-like to earn half-a-crown?’ And I said, yes I would. So then he said as he’d a note he wanted taken to Miss Danesworth’s house, and he arst me did I know it, and I said yes I did, so he said the note was for the young lady that lived there with Miss Danesworth, and he went away up the road towards the common where his car was.”
“And what did you do?”
Dicky hesitated. Then he said,
“I thought as I’d find out what he was up to. It was dark, and I went after him.”
“Did you catch him?”
Dicky shook his head.
“I didn’t try to. I wanted to see where he went to. I hadn’t ever seen him before, and it crossed my mind that he mightn’t be up to any good, so I kept behind him.”
“And what happened?”
“He went on up the road, and he come to where his car was standing-”
Sir James Coghill leaned forward and asked, “Whereabouts was this car? Was it beyond the place where the body was found?”
Dicky nodded.
“That’s right. It was fifty yards beyond it.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I paced it-see?”
“You paced it. Why?”
“Oh, not then, I didn’t. I come back in the morning and did it. The murder was out by then.”
“And how do you know that you’d got the right place to measure to?”
“There was oil on the road-that’s why, sir.”
Sir James leaned back again, and the questioning went on.
“Well, Richard, you came up the road and saw the gentleman get into the car. Is that right?”
“Yes, sir. And I went round without his seeing me to the back of his car.” ‘
“How do you know that he didn’t see you?”
The blue eyes took on a dreamy gaze. They really were very beautiful eyes.
“I played Injuns with him, sir.”
“How do you mean you played Indians?”
“It’s a game we play, sir. I’m quite good at it. You must get to a place without anyone seeing you. It’s difficult in the daytime, but it’s dead easy at night. I got round to the back of the car, and there I see as how he’d got something hanging down over the back so that the number-plate was covered.”
“You’re sure of that? You’re on oath, remember.”
The blue eyes reproached him.
“Acourse I remember.”
“What did you do?”
“I lifted the stuff that was hanging down. I’d some matches with me and I saw the number-plate.”
He gave the County letters and the number of Mac’s car.
“You are quite sure about that? Remember that you are on oath.”
“I’m quite sure, sir.”
“And then?”
“I was playing a game of cops and Injuns. The man in the car was a cop, and I was an Injun.”
“Go on.”
Dicky hesitated. There was something more to tell-something that he hadn’t told to anyone, something that gave him a funny feeling when he remembered it. It gave him such a funny feeling that he didn’t like talking about it. His voice fell.
“The man in the car was putting his moustache back on-”
There was a sensation in the court. Dicky, seeing the effect that he had produced, perked up a little. Mr. Carisbrooke came in quickly.
“He was putting his moustache back on?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Let’s get this quite clear. Do you mean that the man in the car had been wearing a false moustache?”
“Yes, sir. A big bushy one it was.”
“And you’re quite sure about this?”
“Yes, sir. He put on the light inside the car and he looked in the glass, and he was fixing it to get it straight. And I dunno why, but it kind of give me the creeps and I ran away.”
“And then did you deliver the note?”
Dicky became noticeably deflated. He said, “N-no,” and shuffled with his feet.
“Why didn’t you?”
Dicky hesitated. To say that he had forgotten it would be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but he had found grown-ups singularly unreceptive to this kind of truth. And then with a glow of virtue it came over him that if he told the truth and they didn’t believe him, that was their affair, he had nothing to do with it. He lifted his head, fixed his blue gaze on Mr. Carisbrooke’s face and said,
“Please, sir, I forgot all about it.”
“How was that?”
“Well, I met up with Stuffy Craddock and Roger Barton, and they’d got a wizard scheme on… Must I tell you what it was, sir?”
“I think you had better.” Mr. Carisbrooke’s tone was affable.
Dicky brightened.
“They said there was a wheel sunk in the pond by Mr. Fulbrook’s wall, and they said if we could get it out-” His voice rather trailed away.
“If they could get it out-”
Dicky’s voice became small and miserable.
“They said as if we could get it out we could have a go at the apples on the other side of the wall.”
“I see,” said Mr. Carisbrooke cheerfully. “And did you get it out?”
“No, sir. And it was getting late and we was all wet through, so we went home, and my mother took off my wet clothes to dry them and I went to bed.”
“And when did you think of the note again?”
“Not till next day, sir.”
“And then?”
“I didn’t think that I’d better do anything about it. It’s-it’s rather difficult, sir-”
Mr. Carisbrooke looked at him cheerfully.
“Let’s have it,” he said.
A faint angel smile trembled on Dicky’s lips.
“It had got wet, sir, with us trying to get the wheel out of the pond. It was stuck in the mud and we got soaked, me and Stuffy Craddock and Roger Barton. Roger’s father clouted him proper.”
“Did your mother clout you?”
“No! My mother never clouts me.”
“You are very fortunate,” said Mr. Carisbrooke drily.
“Oh, yes, sir, I know that.”
Beside Miss Silver Mrs. Pratt began to cry again. Her Dicky-to say that-in a court of justice! It was the moment of her life. She wept on silently.
The counsel for the defence was speaking.
“And what did you do about the note after that?”
“I didn’t do anything, sir. I left it in my pocket.”
“Until when?”
“Till Miss Silver come, she and Miss Jenny.”
“When was that?”
“It was a week ago.”
“And then?”
“Miss Silver she asked me about it, and I told her. I give her the letter.”