The rector’s face brightened. “To tell you the truth, I found it hard to believe that young Hartle could be so—vicious. He was a good man, he would have made a good father.”

But there were dark places in many a child’s life. Temptation was hard to resist when it was something that a child very badly wanted. The ability to know right from wrong wavered in the face of longing. The lemon drop at eye level in the greengrocer’s shop, the toy that another child played with, the larger biscuit on the plate, the biggest apple in the bowl. These seldom led to attempted murder, but a child who had planned his truancy carefully, was already half frightened by his audacity but intent on finding smugglers’ gold, would be desperate to rid himself of what he perceived as an intruder, someone who was about to ruin everything he’d longed to do in this one glorious escape from authority. Consequences never entered his head. Only being caught before he could find treasure. Would he have gone as far as murder? Or would he have considered it murder, if the boy fell over the cliff without his help?

Who could say?

They thanked the rector and left, warning him to lock his doors.

Walker said as they were out of earshot, “You let me lie to him. The story will have to come out.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Meanwhile, what good would the truth have done, do you think?”

The first drops of rain struck them in the face, blown by the wind, great wet drops that promised a downpour. Lightning illuminated the rectory gate, and thunder followed almost on its heels.

“We’ll have to speak to Roper’s father. To see if Jimmy knew this story. And Mrs. Jeffers. I don’t know if we’ll get much joy from Tyrell Pierce. Anthony could do no wrong. The heir and hope,” Walker said as they dashed through the gate and ran for The Fishermen’s Arms. There was another flash of lightning, and then the rain came down in earnest. They arrived damp and breathless.

“I’ll borrow an umbrella.” Walker cast a glance at the sky. “Are we still patrolling the streets?”

“No. I think he’s gone, whoever he was.”

“Then I’ll say good night.” He went into Reception, where there was a porcelain stand filled with umbrellas for the use of guests, chose one, and with a nod to Rutledge trotted out into the rain.

Hamish said, “Yon priest. He didna’ want to remember. Ye ken, these were lads.”

“And it was a very long time ago,” Rutledge said.

“Aye. Now they must judge the men the lads became.”

And that was true. The men had turned out well. They’d served their country with honor and distinction, they had respectable lives ahead of them, and the foibles of the past were forgiven.