Read Online Sherlock Holmes and the Ghosts of Bly by Donald Thomas - Free Book Online

to prove. I cannot demonstrate to the world that you never traced it. But I do say that on the basis of this experiment there is no evidence that you could have produced the forgery on that postal order—which is a good long way towards the same thing.”
    During this exchange, I had got up and walked slowly across to the window. It looked out over the downland towards the channel. A late afternoon sun cast a burnish upon the lavender blue of the Western Approaches.
    â€œNow,” said Holmes, “please tell me exactly how you first heard about the theft.”
    Riley’s answer was commendably simple.
    â€œPorson came up to me about half-past five on that Saturday afternoon. He said, ‘I say, isn’t it rotten? Someone’s stolen my money from my locker.’ It wasn’t real money, of course, just the order. They don’t let us keep money in our lockers.”
    â€œAnd you replied to John Porson?”
    â€œI said he should have another look to make sure it had gone. If it had, he should tell the housemaster or one of the two petty officers on duty. Petty Officer Carter was on that day. I said not to waste time, the sooner he reported it, the better his chances of getting it back.”
    â€œAdmirable,” said Holmes, “Then you spoke as a good sensible friend, not as a frightened thief.”
    â€œI hope I did, sir. I knew nothing about it until Porson told me then, in the locker room.”
    As I listened, I was standing by a table on which his toiletries and other articles were set out in regulation order. Among them was a rather expensive clothes-brush, with black bristles and a polished walnut back, evidently brought from home. On this varnished back someone at home had very precisely cut the name “Riley” and his school number, “178.” Next to this there were several words lightly scratched, as if to deface the varnish. They in turn had been scraped over, as neatly as possible, to obliterate them. Even under these neater scratches it was just possible to see that an unknown hand had cut four words next to Riley’s name. The effect was to make the whole lettering read “Riley Is an Oily Hog.”
    There was also a cheap hair-brush which had been similarly treated. Once again, whatever had defaced it was scratched over in its turn but I could still make out an ominous jingle.
    Tell-tale tit .
    Your tongue shall be split ,
    And all the little dicky-birds
    Shall have a little bit .
    The old-fashioned clothes-brush might have been an heirloom of some kind. The hair-brush seemed a cheap replacement, perhaps for one that had already been defaced in this way.
    Several more pieces of the puzzle fell into place. I picked up the clothes-brush and turned round.
    â€œWho carved your name and number so neatly on the back of this?”
    Riley glanced up.
    â€œIt was my uncle, sir, before I came for my first term. I was in Collingwood Term.”
    â€œAnd who scratched these other words?”
    He bit his lip and shook his head.
    â€œDon’t know, sir.”
    I would have bet a hundred pounds that he did.
    â€œVery well, then tell me at least who scratched them out—did you do it?”
    He shook his head again. “My mother did it, when I went home for the first holidays. There were so many things to be bought for school that we couldn’t throw away the brush. And it belonged to my father.”
    Holmes gave a murmur of approval.
    â€œAnd what are Oily Hogs? I regret having to ask that. Please tell me.”
    The boy stared at the table-top and hesitated. To my astonishment, with his deliverance now a possibility, he was close to tears. Then he pulled himself together and said, “We are. The Engineers. The Executive Cadets—the Deck Officers—are the Ocean Swells. There are far more of them. One or two of us at a time have to go to be bully-ragged. The rest of us keep quiet because we’re glad it’s someone