“I think that’s very unlikely. If it had been, then I think he’d have said so.”

“Then how did Virgil Winslow come to know about this story?” Rutledge asked. “I can’t imagine Hartle bragging to anyone about what he’d done. I mean to say, if Hartle had gone back to that headland and found it empty, found that the other boy wasn’t there, it must have given him an appalling shock. He couldn’t have known where his victim had gone—over the edge or if he had pulled himself out of his paralysis of fear and found his way back to safety. And surely, when Theo reached Eastfield and discovered that the child was alive, he must have expected the police on his doorstep at any moment. That the boy had told someone. A teacher, his parents, even other children.”

“I asked him just that question,” Ottley replied. “Hartle told me that he expected retribution at any moment, but the longer it was delayed, the more he’d thought that the child was afraid to tell what had happened that day. Hartle felt enormous relief, he said, and swore he would never again do anything he’d be ashamed of. Besides, he had had his own irate father to face when the school wanted to know why he’d played truant.”

“And you’re sure he said nothing that would tell you who this other child was?”

“Just the phrase, ‘he was an ugly little toad.’ As if that explained everything.”

Constable Walker spoke up. “Do you think it was the Summers boy?”

He had spoken to Rutledge, but the rector said, “Was he still in Eastfield? I did ask—Theo told me Summers had already left to take up his new position.”

“Hartle must have lied to you. He probably knew that’s why Summers left here. The boy must have told his father something about what had happened. He’d been terrified, after all. Hartle didn’t want to take the blame for that as well. His confession had its limits.”

The rector said, “He was the butt of much teasing, I’m sure. A very unpopular child, never could put a foot right. But do you think he really was Hartle’s victim?” There was lingering doubt in his voice. “Still, there’s the problem of how Virgil Winslow knew.”

“I don’t think Winslow knew—not this story, at least. I think tonight he may have been whistling in the dark. We’d asked his wife if her brother had any secrets. Winslow must have assumed that he had—because he’d been murdered.” Rutledge added, “Thank you, Rector, for telling us this. We’ll use the knowledge to look into the matter. If nothing comes of it, then I think perhaps Hartle exaggerated what happened. That with time he’d blown it out of proportion, and it seemed more ominous than it was.”