She seemed a little shaken by the likeness and kept on looking at Richard. When she got up to go she held his hand a little longer than was usual.

“I can’t get over it,” she said. “You’re so like-so very like. I don’t mean just the portrait in the hall, though you are like that too. But it is Jenny’s father to whom the likeness is stronger. It is really very strong indeed-quite upsetting. Well, I must be going. You will let me know if there is anything I can do to help you.”

She went out by the front door, and they saw her go. She walked with a lagging step and with less than her usual briskness.

“What did she mean?” said Jenny, looking after her with troubled eyes.

“I think perhaps she was fond of your father,” said Miss Danesworth.

Miss Silver sat in the train. She was on her way to Colborough. By her side sat Mrs. Pratt, a wan and tearful figure, and opposite them Dicky in a high state of excitement and good spirits.

“You be careful, Dicky-you be very careful,” said Mrs. Pratt. She pressed a damp screwed-up handkerchief first into her right eye and then her left.

Miss Silver intervened.

“Now, Mrs. Pratt, there is no occasion for you to distress yourself.”

“I’m so afraid,” said Mrs. Pratt. “Suppose they was to say that my Dicky was in need of care and attention and they sent him to one of them schools that are more like prisons than anything else-”

“I do not think that you need be under any apprehension, Mrs. Pratt,” said Miss Silver. “Dicky is going to give evidence about the note which he forgot and which remained in his pocket. No one would dream of blaming you for that, and no one would dream of taking Dicky away from you.”

“I’m so afraid,” sobbed Mrs. Pratt.

Dicky had been whistling. The heart had gone out of it. Suppose his mother was right and the horrible danger of an approved school hung over his head- He cast an uneasy glance at Miss Silver, stopped whistling, and said,

“That’s all nonsense, isn’t it, Miss? They won’t do nothing to me. I just got to give my evidence clear and truthful like you said-that’s all, isn’t it? Nobody’s got any call to go sending me off to a home. Beastly old places homes. I knowed a boy as went to one, and he wasn’t ever the same again, not by half he wasn’t.”

Miss Silver smiled at him.

“No one wants to put you into a home, Dicky,” she said. “You will tell the truth, and that will set poor Mr. Mottingley free. No one will blame you for forgetting the note, I can assure you of that.”

When they reached Colborough they took their way to the police court, which was quite near at hand. Frank Abbott was looking out for them. He smiled at Dicky, who wriggled rather uneasily under his eye, spoke to Mrs. Pratt, and smiled at Miss Silver.

“Punctual to the moment,” he said. “And all complete. Now this young man will come in here”-he led the way to the waiting-room- “and Mrs. Pratt can either wait with him, or she can come into the court.”

Dicky looked so dashed that Miss Silver hastened to say, “I think that Mrs. Pratt had better come in with me. There might not be room later on, and she would like to hear Dicky giving his evidence. Would you not, Mrs. Pratt?”

Mrs. Pratt was understood to say something, but in so low and weepy a tone that no sense could be made of it.

Dicky was shut into the room with other witnesses, where he made himself quite at home, and Miss Silver and Mrs. Pratt followed Frank into the court room. He showed them to their places, and they settled down to waiting.

Mrs. Pratt was awed into silence for the first few minutes. Then she began in an awful whisper to detail all the troubles that had come upon her from the time of her marriage. At the most poignant part her voice sank into complete inaudibility.

“All in a moment he was dead. And we’d been so happy, and Dicky was only a baby. It’s hard, it’s very hard to know why such things are sent.” There was a long inaudible piece here, and when next her voice reached Miss Silver she was saying, “Dicky’s not a bad boy-really he isn’t. Oh, do you think if I was to tell the magistrate that he was a good boy they’d not be too hard on him?”

Miss Silver said firmly, “Mrs. Pratt, there is no question of the magistrate being hard on Dicky. He is only giving evidence. He is not being tried-you know that.”

“And I’ve always tried to keep him respectable,” sobbed Mrs. Pratt. “And I never thought it would come to this.”

“Mrs. Pratt, if you cannot control yourself you will have to leave the court. Nothing is going to happen to Dicky, I can assure you of that. If you do not sit quietly here you will be ordered from the court. Now pray control yourself.”

Mrs. Pratt sat and wept silently-whilst the court filled up, whilst Jimmy Mottingley appeared in the dock, and whilst the magistrates came in, two men and a woman. At this point she raised her head a little and appeared to be taking some slight interest in the proceedings.

Miss Silver looked across at Jimmy and smiled. He was bearing himself well, and she was pleased to see it. His father and mother were both there. She had not seen Mrs. Mottingley before-a big fair woman with a controlled expression and hands that were twisted in her lap.

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?”